


Tales of Gotham City

by mizmahlia



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Arkham - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics), Young Justice
Genre: Arkham Verse, Based on a Tumblr Post, Bat Family, Batfamily Feels, Bruce Wayne is a Good Dad, Damian Wayne is Robin, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, F/M, Gen, Headcanon, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Prompt Fic, Resurrected Jason Todd, Stephanie Brown is Batgirl, Tim Drake is Red Robin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-27 21:26:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 52,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13889457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mizmahlia/pseuds/mizmahlia
Summary: This is a collection of one-shots that focus on one or more members of our beloved Batfamily. The themes will vary; some will be upbeat and funny, others full of angst and heartache.I've drawn inspiration from all forms of the DC universe: Young Justice, the comics, the DCEU, the Arkhamverse, and everything in between. Each chapter will contain a short summary and mention which universe the chapter is centered in.





	1. Just talk to me!

**Author's Note:**

> In honor of what got me started writing in the DC fandom, this first chapter is from the Young Justice 'verse and centers around Dick and Wally. Dick has become Nightwing at this point and we're going to pretend Wally never 'died' because I refuse to believe he's really gone.
> 
> The prompt was the sentence “For once, stop pretending you’re okay! Just talk to me!”.
> 
> Also: Wally's comment at the end is in no way an attempt to blame Jason for what happened to him, just so we're clear. I personally think the idea that Jason is responsible for what happened to him is ludicrous. But we all know how the Batfamily doesn't always share details, so Wally didn't really have much to go on.

Wally watched as Dick stepped out of the pre-mission briefing, touching a finger to the comm piece in his right ear. He could tell Dick was upset, noticing the near-constant clenching of his jaw. He carefully slipped from the briefing room and followed him down the hall.  
  
“Come on, Batman. You and I both know where the Joker is. I’m not going back to Bludhaven.” He stopped walking and inhaled deeply, holding his breath. He leaned against the wall, pinching the bridge of his nose as he exhaled.

“That’s a load of crap and you know it. The team is ready to head for Bialya and Kaldur volunteered to take point on this one because of…” Dick trailed off, looking down at the floor.  
  
Wally hung back about twenty feet. The team was shaken to its core after losing Robin a few days prior, and truth be told, as devastated as he was? Wally also felt guilty for being relieved it hadn’t been Dick tortured and murdered by the Joker. The second Robin had been a good kid- smart, strong and brave, if not a little cocky. But they all could be, so he’d fit right in and proved himself more than worthy of being on their team. He was pulled from his thoughts when Dick raised his voice sharply, something he rarely did when talking to any of his superiors, especially Batman.  
  
“You don’t get to make that call! You may have lost a son, but..”

Dick slid down the wall, covering his eyes with one hand, keeping his other on his earpiece.

“But I lost a brother.”

He shook his head angrily as Batman continued talking.

“That’s rich, coming from  _you_ , of all people. Telling  _me_ to talk to someone? To get help?”

He stood up and balled his free hand into a fist, turning his back toward Wally again.

“You’re such a damn hypocrite, Batman. Nightwing out.”

He abruptly ended the conversation, ripping the comm from his ear and chucking it down the hallway. He turned and punched the wall, his fist going straight through the drywall. Pulling his arm out, bringing plaster and dust with it, he hunched over and rested his hands on his knees.

“I know you’re there, KF.”

Wally closed the gap between them, running a hand through his hair.

“Can I ask what the fight was about?” He stopped a few feet from Dick, startled at how much Dick was shaking. He'd seen him angry before, but this was... different. This was rage he'd never seen in his best friend and it scared him.

“What do you think?” He stood up and narrowed his eyes, glaring at Wally, who held his hands up in surrender.

“Whoa. I can’t imagine what you’re feeling, but…”

“No, you can’t. So back off.” Dick dusted his hands together, plaster and drywall drifting to the floor.

“Not gonna happen. My best friend loses a family member and expects me to believe everything is fine?” Wally shook his head and his voice softened. “You know me better than that.”

“I’m fine,” Dick replied, his voice barely a whisper. “I’m okay.”

“Yeah? And I’m Wonder Woman. You aren’t fine and it’s obvious. And it’s okay.”   
  
Dick didn’t say anything and refused to look at Wally. He was back to clenching his jaw again, but he’d stopped shaking for the time being. But when he started checking his utility belt and gauntlets, Wally realized he was taking an inventory. He was getting ready to leave. Wally stepped closer and put his hand on Dick’s arm.  
  
“You’re not seriously considering going after the Joker alone, are you?”   
  
Dick shook Wally’s hand off and took a step backward, still refusing to look at him.

“I’m not ‘considering’ anything.”  
  
“Then fill me on what you’ve got, and I’ll go with you.” He zipped up his suit the rest of the way and adjusted his goggles on his forehead.   
  
Dick shook his head and turned to leave. “No, KF. I’ve got this.”   
  
“Like hell you do.” He stepped forward again, spinning Dick around to face him.   
  
“I told you, I’m fine. Batman and I will handle this.”  
  
“I’d believe you if I didn’t know you so well. Batman doesn’t know you’re going, does he?” Wally tapped the bright blue chest plate of Dick’s suit. “I saw you disable the tracker.”  
  
Dick looked at Wally, clearly annoyed at being caught doing something stupid.

“And who are you, my babysitter?”  
  
Wally laughed darkly.

“Honestly? Seems like you need one. This is so incredibly stupid and you know it.” He cringed at the harshness of his tone and softened his voice a little. “And that’s coming from me, dude. Wally West, king of stupid ideas.”  
  
Dick shook his head, looking away from Wally again.

“I can’t.. I won’t get anyone else involved in this. It’s for our family to handle.”  
  
“And what the hell am I, chopped liver?” His voice rose and he didn't bother to hide his frustration. Dick didn’t respond, instead turning and stalking toward the garage. Wally jogged to keep up.

“After everything we’ve been through, you know you can trust me. I’d do anything to help. I’ve got your back.”  
  
Without missing a step, he turned and shoved Wally backward.

“I said I’m fine, now back off.” He turned a corner and entered the garage. “I won’t warn you again, Wally.”  
  
Wally paused for a moment before narrowing his eyes and following him. He gave the door a shove, knocking it against the wall with a loud bang. Dick was about to get on his motorcycle when Wally grabbed him and pulled him off it. He gripped his shoulders tightly, forcing Dick to look him in the face.  
  
“For once, stop pretending you’re okay! Just  _talk_ to me!”   
  
Dick’s facade crumbled momentarily, giving Wally a glimpse at just how much he was hurting. He glanced down at the floor and shook his head as Wally pulled him into a fierce hug. Dick leaned heavily against him, his arms hanging limply at his sides for a moment before he wrapped his arms around Wally. He was shaking again, but this time it wasn't anger. He was ready to fall apart.  
  
“Just let me do this. I need to do something. I… I can’t stay here.” He pulled away and stared at the floor again. Wally closed his eyes at the pain in Dick's voice.  
  
“And I can’t let you do that. As your best friend and teammate, I can’t let you do this alone.” Wally stepped back and looked at him, waiting for him to make eye contact again.

“Tell me what you’ve got, and I'll come with you.” 

“And I said no.”

The wall was back up and he pushed Wally away, turning toward the motorcycle. Wally didn’t want it to come to this, but he didn’t see any other option. He took a deep breath and stepped back a few feet. He hated himself for what he was about to say, but he had to do something to try and stop Dick from doing something stupid before his temper got him into trouble.  
  
“You know this is what got him killed, right? All of you think you can handle everything alone.”  
  
As expected, Dick’s posture immediately changed. His back straightened and his hands balled into fists. He turned and took a swing at Wally, the punch sailing wide to Wally's right. He incorrectly assumed Dick wouldn’t throw another and closed his eyes, shaking his head.

“Dick, I…”  
  
Dick’s fist connected with Wally’s jaw, sending him backward into a work bench before he hit the floor. Wally touched a hand to his face, sighing when his fingers came away with blood.   
  
“You son of a..” Dick stood over him, his blue eyes glinting furiously in the low light. “Don’t you **dare** …”

He trailed off and turned, getting on the motorcycle. Wally stood up, not bothering to wipe the blood running down his cheek.  
  
“Don’t do this. You have an entire team, the entire Justice League to help you!”  
  
“Yeah, well, I don’t want it. This time it’s personal.”  
  
He gunned the throttle and sped off, leaving Wally standing there alone. He knew he could easily catch Dick’s motorcycle, but he knew there was no talking him out of this one. He turned and headed back into the cave to contact Batman. There was no way he was losing another teammate.

Not to the Joker, not to anyone.


	2. You'll die!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is my first attempt at writing some Dick/Babs, so if something feels off, that's why. (But I welcome feedback and constructive criticism!) This takes place in the vast playground that is the DCU.
> 
> The prompt for this was “You’ll die and I can’t watch the person I love die".

The three of them were in the cave while Batman was out for the night. Alfred was patching up a sore and injured Nightwing while Barbara assisted, handing Alfred the necessary supplies. As much as the laceration in his calf, the bruised jaw and sprained shoulder hurt, Dick’s pride had taken the biggest blow. He’d been uncharacteristically quiet while Alfred cleaned him up.  
  
He was in Gotham that night to help out since Bruce, Tim and Damian were supposed to be at some charity fundraising event. But when Bruce got wind of Black Mask preparing to launch something big, he’d called in Dick to lend a hand. Bruce took the primary target and Tim and Damian were sent to the second of the three locations. Dick and Barbara were handling the third situation when they were ambushed. They managed to take them all down, but Dick had gotten hurt when someone set off an explosive charge, sending them all crashing through the floor. Thankfully, one of the larger morons broke Batgirl’s fall. Nightwing hadn’t been so lucky and was now lying on his stomach on a gurney while Alfred sutured his calf.  
  
Barbara laid a gentle hand on Dick’s arm as Alfred finished cleaning the wound. He covered her hand with his, squeezing tightly. Neither of them noticed Alfred fighting a smile as they looked at each other, Barbara’s cheeks turning pink. Alfred just finished taping gauze over the site when several alarms on the main console went off. Barbara darted to the keyboard, typing furiously.  
  
“It’s the biometric monitoring system in the suit. His respiration and heart rate are through the roof.” With several more keystrokes, the live feed from his cowl was up on the screen. “What the…”

The screen was dark as smoke cleared in front of Batman. As it did, they were able to see more of his surroundings. He was lying on his side with several unconscious men in front of him. He sat up and looked around, knowing Barbara and Dick were monitoring from the cave. Batman glanced down at himself and Barbara noticed blood and shrapnel wounds in his arms and legs. She shook her head in frustration.

“I’ve tried to reach him on his comm unit, but his voice communication is down.”  
  
“Barb, what can you see?” Dick sat up on the exam bed, wincing as he moved the injured shoulder.  
  
“That’s the problem. I can’t.” She shook her head and switched over to the database that logged all of Batman's cowl feeds. She pulled up the previous few minutes of his evening. The GPS coordinates in the upper right corner placed him in Chinatown, right in the middle of Black Mask’s territory. He'd been ambushed and was in some serious trouble.  
  
“I’m heading out to get him. It shouldn’t take long.” She turned and started gathering her things, her suit still on a chair from an hour earlier.  
  
“I’ll prepare the jet and program the coordinates to his location.” Alfred gave Dick’s leg a reassuring pat. “Take it easy, Master Grayson. If you pull any of those sutures, I’ll ask Master Bruce to fix them.” He gave Dick a gentle glare, a hint of a smile on his face. Telling a member of this family to be careful was like telling a child not to touch something hot. It didn’t really do much good.  
  
Barbara was moving quickly and nearly had her suit on. She’d turned back to the computer, watching the live feed as she laced her boots. Dick limped over, putting a hand on her shoulder.  
  
“I don’t think you should go,” he said quietly. “With Tim and Damian across town, you’re vastly outnumbered and Bruce is injured.”

She paused a moment, leaning her cheek against his hand before looking up at him.   
  
“Not now, Dick. He’s down and so are you. I have to get out there. And I don’t have time to wait for Tim or Damian.” They briefly made eye contact before she turned back to the computer, entering a command. Her message to Batman appeared up on the screen.

 _Batgirl inbound. ETA 8 minutes._  
  
Dick read the message and something twisted in his gut. He’d never doubted her abilities and was confident she could bring Bruce back. But since they’d gotten together, things were different. He worried more. And it killed him that he couldn’t go with her. He watched as she slid her cowl over her head, his heart skipping a beat.   
  
“If it were anyone else, I wouldn’t be so worried. But it’s Black Mask.  You know what he’s capable of.”  
  
“So you want me to leave Bruce out there to die?”  
  
“No, it’s just…”  
  
“Just what?”  
  
“I don’t want anything to happen to you.”  
  
“What? Where is this coming from? You’ve never had a problem with me going out alone.”  
  
From the med bay, Alfred shook his head slightly as he continued cleaning. _None that he voiced to you, Miss Gordon._   Dick was always the talkative one in the family and Alfred was usually the one who had the most time to listen.  
  
“I don’t doubt you and your skills. Really, I don’t.”  
  
“Then what is it?” She was finished getting ready and stood there, arms crossed over her chest. “Spit it out, Hunk Wonder!”  
  
He glanced at the footage she had looped on the monitor, showing Batman being blown through a wall. There were about a dozen armed men hunting him down. He thought about her being in that situation and chills ran down his spine. She looked at Dick as he watched the footage, the pieces starting to fall into place.  
  
“I can take care of myself. You of all people know that,” she said quietly. He turned and looked at her, guilt written all over his face.  
  
“I know you can, Babs. I just... Being stuck here, helpless to intervene, it isn’t really my thing.” He reached for her hand and brought it to his face, brushing his lips against her knuckles.  
  
“Everything will be fine. I’m not planning anything stupid- it's just an extraction.” She squeezed his hand before turning toward the jet. “I’ll be back before you know it.”   
  
“What if things go south? What if you can’t get him out without a confrontation?” He turned and gestured to the screen, wincing at the soreness in his leg as he turned. “Black Mask and his people shoot first and don’t bother to ask questions later.”  
  
“I know. It’s why I don’t plan on getting shot.” Her hands were on the ladder to climb into the cockpit. Dick curled his hands into fists, his frustration and unease mounting. He didn’t know how to say it any other way, so he blurted it out and didn’t care what Alfred thought.  
  
“You’ll die and I can’t watch the woman I love die.”  
  
Barbara turned and looked at him, her surprise visible even beneath her cowl at his admission about how he felt. Conflicted as she was, she forced herself to keep hold of the ladder so she wouldn’t lose her focus. All she wanted to do was hug him and tell him everything would be fine, but she didn’t have the time. Bruce needed her.  
  
“You won’t be. You’ll get to watch me kick some ass instead.” She gave him a wink before turning and climbing into the jet. “We can talk about the rest later.” With a wave she closed the door and the jet took off, leaving Dick standing alone next to the computer console, watching Bruce take cover.  
  
“I hope so, Babs.” 


	3. I don't need you.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is another chapter that takes place in the Young Justice 'verse. There's mention of Roy's addiction, but nothing graphic. 
> 
> The prompt for this chapter was "I don’t need you. I don’t need any of you.”
> 
> And is anyone else anxiously awaiting the return of Young Justice? It feels like it's taking forever to get here. :)

The first time they tried to intervene it failed spectacularly.  
  
It was a cold Friday night in October and the moon was full and bright, making patrols that much easier. Fewer shadows meant fewer hiding places for those who dared to do anything that gave them a reason to hide. Still, Gotham City had plenty of places that light, moonlight or otherwise, couldn’t touch. So she always had places to hide.

That was precisely why Roy traveled to Gotham to get what he needed. He wasn’t stupid enough to risk recognition trying to score a hit in Star City; he’d tried it once and the moron thought Red Arrow was trying to entrap him for the cops. He lost his stuff that night, having to play along and actually turn the dealer in. That was a mistake he wouldn’t make twice.  
  
After one of his last patrols as Robin, Dick had come back to Happy Harbor to unwind and hang out with the team. He and Batman had been running themselves ragged trying to break up a new gang of dealers who were bringing large quantities of smack into Gotham’s ports, flooding her streets with addicts, overdoses and related crimes. A couple of days earlier Roy had gotten his first taste of heroin and was already looking for more. Robin had practically dropped the opportunity into his lap when he lamented about the sheer quantity of product they had to help GCPD catalog and destroy. Roy saw a perfect opportunity.

“Sounds like you two could use another pair of eyes and some extra boots on the ground.”

Robin nodded.

“Definitely. Can you spare some time? We’ve got plenty of ground to cover.”   
  
“I’ll be in town tomorrow night. I’ll keep you posted.”   
  
“Sounds good, Roy. Looking forward to it!”  
  
The next couple of weeks were a blur for him. The major deals he broke up allowed him to skim some of the product before the cops got there. The small stuff, the ones with only enough to get high once, he dealt with a little differently. They stayed out of jail but Roy put the fear of God in them and made them hand over the product for “proper disposal”. He only did that once or twice out of fear of being caught; the last thing he wanted was to get busted by Batman himself. And in Gotham, no less.  
  
Once he’d had enough to last him a while, he went back to Star City and slipped back into his old routine. Not having to work to find product was nice; he could take a hit and head out for the night. Patrol was always more fun when he was high. Sure, the people he was after landed a few more punches, but they certainly didn’t hurt him. Well, not right away. After the high wore off he was always sore as hell, but another dose usually fixed that.  
  
He tripped himself up, though, missing a rendezvous with Ollie and Artemis one night when they were supposed to take out a human trafficking ring. He’d measured his dose wrong and passed out at home with his bow in his hands and his mask on upside down. When Artemis showed up later with one hell of a shiner and an impressive rant tailored just for him, she’d noticed something was off. Roy blamed it on the flu, but Artemis knew better.  
  
The next time it happened Roy missed an easy shot at a panel van rushing from a crime scene and  had it not been for Artemis, the van almost got away with a kidnapped child inside. After that he stopped showing up for meetings at the team headquarters, he blew off nights out with friends and his appearance had grown disheveled and sloppy.   
  
Nightwing followed him back into Gotham that cold Friday night while Roy was on his way to score another hit. He’d radioed ahead and Kaldur took out the dealer while Megan took on the man’s appearance and waited for Roy. The rest of the team was hidden nearby, waiting for Roy to approach.  
  
He stepped into the alley and out of the streetlight.

“You here?”  
  
“Yeah.” The dealer appeared from further back in the alley, keeping a safe distance. “You got the cash?”  
  
“Here.” Roy pulled out a wad of bills, his hand shaking badly.   
  
Megan shifted back, her delicate green fingers taking the money. Nightwing, Kid Flash, Kaldur, Superboy and Ollie all stepped from the shadows nearby. Barry joined them from across the street. After a few seconds of painfully awkward silence, Ollie spoke first.  
  
“We’re here to help, Roy. We know you have a problem.”  
  
Roy said nothing, instead staring at the ground.   
  
“C'mon, Roy. We want to help you. Whatever you need, we’ll get it.” Dick approached carefully, keeping his voice neutral. “We don’t want anything to happen to you.”   
  
Roy chose to speak, looking at Ollie.

“How long have you known?”  
  
He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand.

“A few weeks now, but we wanted to be sure.” A sideways look at Artemis confirmed what he already knew.  
  
“So you had my replacement follow me? You couldn’t find time to do it yourself?”   
  
Wally took Artemis’ hand, looking at Roy.

“This isn’t about any of us. It’s about you. We only want what’s best for you. Just.. just look at what it’s doing to you.”   
  
Roy couldn’t stand being stared at and pitied any longer.

“Whatever. I’m leaving. And  _don’t_ follow me.” He turned and stalked out of the alley, shoving his hands in his pockets.  
  
“Wait!” Nightwing caught up to him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You need help, Roy. You need your friends.”   
  
Roy aggressively shook Nightwing’s hand off his shoulder, shaking his head. He glared at his long-time friend before focusing his rage on the rest of the group. “I don’t need you. I don’t need any of you.”  
  
He turned and walked away, his friends left to wonder after him and contemplate what would happen if he didn't get help.

It didn't look good.

 


	4. You thought I still cared.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is there anything more fun than writing Jason Todd? In case you haven't noticed by now, he's pretty much my favorite character to write.
> 
> This one happens in the Arkham!verse (with some allusions to comic canon) and ignores the ending of Arkham Knight when Bruce is outed as Batman and then"dies", so I guess that makes this a bit of an AU. And somehow it ballooned to 2400 words. Oops..
> 
> There is some swearing here and a bad guy doesn't survive the chapter. But it's not graphic.
> 
> Inspired by the prompt "How funny. You thought I still cared."

Batman had the Red Hood and a mob hitman cornered in an alley on Miagani Island. The man Red Hood had his gun trained on was stupid enough to cash in on a hit put on a city official. Just as the Red Hood drew his gun to fire a warning shot in his direction, Batman pinned the gun to the wall behind him using his own grapple gun. But then he'd drawn a second weapon faster than Batman thought was possible and now he was dangerously close to finishing off his hostage. The man was on his knees, hands behind his head, facing Batman. 

"Try something. I _dare_ you. I make Boy Scouts look lazy."

Bruce stopped at a safe distance. He could hear the amusement in Jason's voice, even through the voice modulator in the helmet. The second gun was pointed at the back of the man's head, his arm steady and the hammer cocked.

"You can't see it, but under this helmet? I'm enjoying this."

"You know I can't let you do this."

Bruce didn't move, choosing to give himself enough room to carry out any number of the scenarios in his head. The problem was that most of the scenarios he was considering wound up with the man dead on account of Jason's accuracy and reflexes. _And my hesitation to do what I have to_ , he thought.

"Ah, yes. 'The Bat Talk'. Are you really going to do this again?" He tilted his head and sighed theatrically. "You realize the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again but expecting different results." He shoved the barrel of the gun against the man's head and he yelped in surprise.

Bruce bit the inside of his cheek. Jason had always had a knack for pushing his buttons, but this was different. This wasn’t some sparring session at home or a bored Robin on patrol with nothing to do. This was a man, a _young_ man, with a myriad of issues to deal with and a nasty grudge, and that made him more dangerous than Bruce cared to admit.

"And you're a model example of sanity?" Bruce gestured to the man who was now shaking violently and had wet himself. "This isn't the way we do things and you know that. I taught you better than this."

The man looked up at Batman, shocked at the realization these two knew each other.

"Nightwing said something similar nights ago, except he told me I'm 'unhinged'." He shook his head and looked down to his left. His voice grew quiet. "I guess we're back to you guys all calling me crazy, huh? Good to know."

Something in Bruce’s chest lurched at the wounded tone to Jason’s voice. He stepped forward, one hand out in front of him.

"Listen, I..."

Jason cut him off. He holstered his gun and dropped his hands to his sides, balling them into fists.

"You want to know if I'm any more sane or rational than _you_? Christ, that's not hard. I have no illusions about what I am and _why I am this way_ ," he said pointedly. "And before you give me any more shit about it, I know what you're gonna say. You're gonna tell me that killing someone who took a life not forty-five minutes ago just for **money** , let me remind you, doesn't make me any better than him."

Bruce stayed silent and let Jason talk. He’d holstered the gun under his arm, not at his thigh, and his drawing speed from beneath his arm was slightly slower. He just might have a chance to save him. A small voice in the back of his mind asked which man he was referring to and he told himself he could save them both. But he’d been so exhausted since the siege, both physically and mentally, and he couldn’t deny that the murderer in front of Jason was the least of his concerns.

"It doesn't. And you know that."

Jason released the catch on his helmet, the face plate shifting with a hiss. Bruce steeled himself, surprised at the move and not at all prepared to see Jason's face again. He hadn't seen him since the night of the siege and his eyes went straight to the scar below Jason's left eye. Jason knew Bruce would stare and he grinned, ghosting his fingers over the red, raised skin.

"Yeah, this one hurt like a bitch. But it wasn't the worst thing he did to me." A bitter chuckle died in his throat and he shook his head. He looked up at Bruce, his piercing blue eyes locked onto the lenses in his cowl.

“The worst thing he did was only a few months in. He showed me a photo of you and the new kid. Sick, right? So everything that happened after that- the beatings, the meds from Harley, the weird psych experiments. They all paled in comparison to what _you_ did to me. You _left_ me.”

Bruce felt the color drain from his face and his stomach rolled. He’d long had suspicions of what happened to Jason, but the only evidence he had to work with was the video Joker sent of Jason’s apparent execution. He’d studied that footage repeatedly, seeing the burns and the bruising and the scarring, and the terrible condition of Jason’s suit. He analyzed the bruising patterns to determine when they'd been inflicted, but there were so many in varying stages of healing it was nearly impossible to tell. In the end, the video showed him everything but told him nothing.

But none of that mattered anymore. None of what the Joker did to Jason could hold a candle to how a photo of a new Robin would hurt him. As difficult as it was for Bruce to admit, the Joker had finally done what he’d been trying to do for years: he destroyed Robin and by extension, Batman. And he’d taken a son from his father.

Jason was staring at him now, anger replaced by smugness at Bruce’s lack of response. He noticed Bruce’s posture stiffen when he mentioned the photo and he took a small measure of satisfaction in the fact he could throw some of his pain back in Bruce’s face. He took advantage of Bruce being distracted and continued talking.

"Anyway. We can reminisce some other time." Jason stepped behind the hitman again, grabbing a fistful of his hair. He pulled him to his feet, putting him between himself and Bruce. "One man killing another doesn't change much, so you're half-right. But when you've killed as many of these assholes as I have? That’s called making a difference."

His eyes never left Batman's face as he gripped the man's chin in one hand and the back of his head in the other, twisting violently. Bruce darted forward but he knew he was too late. Jason let go and the man dropped to the ground in a heap.

"Wow, old man. You're getting slow." He dusted his hands together and yanked the grapple line from the wall next to him to retrieve his gun. He studied the dents in the barrel before returning it to his holster. He wasn’t at all surprised when Bruce spun him around, fists latching onto his jacket, and he allowed Bruce to slam him against the building behind him. Jason wasn’t looking at Batman at that moment. He was looking at Bruce. And it was Bruce’s voice shouting at him.

“Do you remember any of what I taught you? Do you remember any of what we accomplished together?" Jason didn't react and simply stood there, savoring the fact he was nearly the same height as Bruce now. He looked at his former mentor and partner, an empty smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Oh, how funny. You thought I still cared."

He didn't move, his eyes boring into Bruce's.

"You think I still care about any of that? That after everything Joker put me through, everything **_you let him_** do to me and countless others, that I would still follow **your** rules? That I would care about saving the lives of criminals who will _never_ change?"

He slammed his knee into Bruce's solar plexus, sending him backward and forcing him to let go. Jason then swung one of his massive arms, his gloved fist connecting solidly with Bruce's face.

"Jason, we don't cross that line. We don't take lives. We can't." Bruce swiped blood from his cheek. "You used to believe in that."

"Yeah, well, I used to believe in a lot of things. Like family, for instance. But a year of physical and psychological torture tends to shift your perspective a little bit. The Jason you knew before all of this is long gone. You can thank the Joker and Harley for that."

Bruce opened his mouth to speak, but the words were lost. He had no idea what to say because he had no idea what his son had been through. Jason looked down at the dead man between them and shook his head.

"You all think I'm crazy, that I need to be _saved_ and sent to Arkham, the place that turned me into… _this_." There was so much venom in his words at the mention of Arkham. He looked up at Bruce and his voice wavered ever so slightly.

"I'm a lot of things, B. Angry. Confused. Hell, I _know_ I'm damaged."

He touched his fingers to a hidden button on his helmet, once again covering his face and the capital ‘J’ on his cheek.

"But I'm not the lunatic you all think I am."

He fired his grapple at a nearby rooftop and disappeared into the darkness. Bruce again looked at the dead man at his feet. He had to call Gordon and report the incident. But before he could call Gordon, Alfred's voice was in his ear piece.

" _Sir, as much as you don't want to hear it, I believe that young man has a point."_

"You can't be serious, Alfred. He's killing people."

_"You know that's not what I mean. I disagree with the permanence of the results from his method of crime-fighting, as I know you do."_

Bruce didn't say a word. He continued staring at the man on the ground, eyes open and fixed on the street lamp above them. He knew Alfred was watching the feed from his cowl live on the monitors back at the cave, looking into those same dead eyes. He knelt down and closed them.

"But?"

_"He said it himself; he isn't insane. Master Jason knows what he's doing is wrong and he's aware of the consequences of his actions. As it stands, in a court of law he would be considered sane."_

"He can't be allowed to take his issues out on Gotham. I won't let him continue operating this way."

Bruce shook his head and stood up, sending Gordon a message about the incident and its location. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with any of that anymore tonight.

_"I know you won't. Master Bruce, was there truth to what he said? Have you and Master Dick told him he's crazy?"_

There was a reproachful tone in Alfred's voice and Bruce didn't answer as he launched himself up out of the alley and into the night sky. It wasn't that simple. They all thought Jason was dead until that night of the siege two months ago. To find out he'd worked for years planning such a horrendous event was too much to process at first. Jason, his partner, his **son** , had wanted him dead and went to terrifying extremes to try and make that happen. Bruce couldn't bring himself to consider Jason would have made that decision while he was of sound mind. Jason wouldn't do that.

But he'd seen the video. And the scar. He'd heard the taunts from Harley about the "fun" she'd had with him. And then there were the flashbacks the Joker had shown him, the ones he told himself weren't real, **_couldn't_** be real. After tonight, he realized they may have been much more real than he cared to admit.

_"Sir, while I agree he's emotionally volatile and unsteady, he's been severely traumatized. Please consider the possibility he may be reaching out for help. Even if he doesn't realize it."_

Bruce turned off his ear piece without responding and glided over the river toward the movie studios. He had to find a way to help Jason, to try and fix the years of damage and abuse. To show him he hadn’t been simply cast aside and written off.

He put on a pot of coffee and sat down at the main computer terminal, locking down the movie studios and disabling all of his communication devices. He couldn’t afford the distractions and didn’t want anyone interfering. It was time to talk to Harley to find out what they did to his son and how to repair the damage.

But if that didn’t work, if his plan failed, he would need a way to stop him. Either way, Harley would give him what he needed. He didn’t fail to see the irony in that and with a grim smile, he started typing.

_We can fix this, Jason._

_Together._


	5. What about mine?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here is some more Dick/Babs, once again happening in the general DCU.
> 
> The prompt for this chapter was “You’re so determined to protect yourself and your feelings, but what about mine?”

Barbara stared at her phone on her desk, willing it to tell her she had a text. She'd been trying all afternoon to reach Dick so they could plan something fun for the night. But the last week or so his replies were coming further and further apart, to the point she began to wonder if she was being brushed off.    
   
 _He wouldn’t do that_ , she thought, shaking her head. _We’ve always been comfortable talking to each other._    
   
She picked up her phone again and checked the screen, worrying her lip with her teeth when there was no message waiting. But she was tired of waiting around and tossed the phone onto her bed, grabbing her gym bag. Spending some time at the manor for a good workout would blow off some steam.

Just after she closed the door to her room and hugged her dad goodbye, a bird chirp broke the silence she left behind and Dick's name flashed across the screen.

* * *

An hour later she was finishing another lap of the grounds around the manor when she spotted a familiar figure standing next to the path back into the garden. She slowed to a light jog, trying to decide whether to turn around and run back the way she’d come or keep going. Figuring five miles were enough, she stopped the timer on her watch and slowed to a walk. If he wasn’t going to talk to her she didn’t mind taking her time.   
   
Dick stood with a hand on one hip and a bottle of water in his other hand, a cheerful smile on his face.    
   
“Hey, you. How was the run?”   
   
She shrugged and brushed her sweaty ponytail off the back of her neck. 

“Shorter than I’d planned, but otherwise fine, I guess.” She took the water he held out to her and took a sip. “Thanks.”   
   
“I tried calling you earlier, but got your voicemail.” She could tell he was trying to break the ice but she wasn’t willing to cave in just yet. He fell into step next to her as she cut across the grass back to the house. 

"You had me worried for a while- you usually have it with you."   
   
“Sorry. I haven’t used my phone much lately, I must have forgotten it.” She took another drink of water. Dick stopped and sighed.    
   
“Look, I’m sorry, Barb. Things have been hectic lately, and…”   
   
Barbara didn’t slow down and kept walking, reaching the back door. She paused with her hand on the knob.    
   
“Too busy to send a text?” She let the question hang as she went inside and made her way toward to the gym downstairs to get her bag. The door closed behind her and she paused at the top of the stairs, closing her eyes and sighing. She knew she was being childish, but at the moment, she really didn't care. He’d been so weird lately and it was becoming pretty obvious what was going on. With a frustrated shake of her head she continued down the stairs and took a seat on the large mat in the center of the room to stretch. A few minutes later she heard footsteps on the stairs and Dick appeared, wearing a sleeveless shirt and shorts, ready for his own workout.    
   
“Can I join you, or are you going to ignore me some more?” He stood a few feet to her left, hands stuffed in his pockets.   
   
She looked up at him, her expression blank and her voice unnervingly calm. 

“Pot, kettle- have you met?"

She went back to stretching and Dick had the sense to bite his tongue, realizing he'd lose no matter what he said.

“Okay, I deserved that.” He waited for her to look at him again for confirmation he could join her. “Look, I’m trying to apologize.“    
   
She gestured to the mat. 

“Fine. Take a seat.” She didn't look at him and continued stretching, the tightness in her hamstrings suddenly the most interesting thing she'd ever seen.   
   
“Things between us have been great, Babs. They really have. And with all the time I spend in Bludhaven, I don’t get to see you that much right now. I miss you.”   
   
Barbara stopped stretching and looked at him, raising an eyebrow. 

“Well, if you’d actually talk to me, we could work on fixing that.”    
   
“It’s just…” he paused, struggling to find the right words. After a few painfully awkward seconds he continued. “I don’t know if I can make this work. I don’t have the time you deserve and I haven’t done this whole dating a friend thing before.” He looked down at his shoes, suddenly afraid to look at her. “I don’t know what to do.”   
   
She drew her legs up and wrapped her arms around her knees, shaking her head in annoyance. “I’d like to buy a vowel, Mr. Sajak.”    
   
Dick frowned. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”    
   
“Forgive me for being cheesy, but there were a lot of ‘I’s’ in that little speech of yours, Grayson. In case you’d forgotten, there’s a ‘you’ and ‘I’ in this relationship.” 

He started to speak, but she held up a hand to stop him. 

“If you’re trying to break up with me, please give me the courtesy of simply saying that’s what you’re doing. But honestly, I don’t think that’s it.”   
   
She stretched her legs out again and flexed one foot, wincing when a charlie horse shot up her calf. Dick slid forward and lifted her leg into his lap, his hands carefully massaging the cramp away. He felt her leg relax beneath his hands, but he didn’t stop kneading her calf. Just being near her, being able to touch her, put him at ease in a way that scared him.   
   
“Alright, Doctor Gordon. What’s going on in my head?” He looked up at her, noticing she was watching his hands. He brushed his fingertips along the inside of her knee, making her squirm a bit.   
   
“Very funny, Hunk Wonder,” she said with a sad smile. She flexed her foot again, making sure her calf wouldn’t cramp again. “I wish I knew.” She drew her leg back toward her, cutting off contact.    
   
Another awkward silence hung in the air between them, neither knowing how to move forward.    
   
“Knowing you as long as I have, I think you’re scared,” Barbara said, unable to bear the silence anymore. “But if ending things is what you want, I’ll try to accept that.”    
   
He looked at her, feeling embarrassed, annoyed, and relieved that she could read him that way. 

“What’s wrong with not wanting to get hurt?” he asked, shaking his head, more at himself than anything. “Wouldn’t you want to try and avoid hurting someone you care about?”   
   
Barbara sighed and stood up, lifting her bag up to her shoulder.    
   
“You’re so determined to protect yourself and your feelings, but what about mine?” She looked down at him, waiting for an answer. When Dick couldn't give her one, she started walking toward the stairs, refusing to let him see her cry. 

“I don’t want this to end. I know we can make this work.” She started to climb the stairs, pausing one more time.   
   
“When you figure out what you want, Dick, let me know. Until then, I’ll see you later on patrol.”   
   
Dick watched her walk away, wondering how he managed to hurt her when he was trying his best  _not_ to.


	6. The sixteenth of August.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Next up, to the surprise of no one, some Jason Todd angst!
> 
> This was taken from an imagine post on tumblr: Dick kept buying Jason birthday presents every year after his death. On his first birthday after coming back, Jason found a box full of those same presents on his doorstep.
> 
> General DCU, no warnings apply, except for some angst. Because it's me we're talking about here and I eat angst for breakfast. And I'm pretending Dick and Jason had more interaction before Jason died and that it was positive. Because of reasons. I'm also leaving Damian out of this one because I'm fudging the timeline a little bit. Because, you know. Reasons.

The sixteenth of August was a day no one in the Wayne family looked forward to, yet they all had rituals for it.

Bruce disappeared most of the day and no one could figure out where he’d gone or what he did, except when he was visible out in the cemetery. Alfred spent parts of the day alone in the study, reading through and writing in a journal. Dick stayed as busy as possible, helping Tim with research, cataloging evidence, repairing equipment and other routine tasks that kept his mind off the calendar. And Tim was fully aware of why that day was a sore spot, so he adapted to what everyone needed without anyone ever asking.    
   
The first birthday without Jason things were tense and awful, as everyone stayed home to keep each other company. No one knew what to say or what to do, to mourn or celebrate, so the day was full of overly-polite conversation and poor attempts to disguise their fears of saying the wrong thing and upsetting someone. The second year was much different; everyone disappeared, leaving the manor empty and silent. The third and fourth years were a blend of the first two, as they all stayed home but kept to themselves. To an outsider, it would seem that August sixteenth was a day somebody died, not a day someone was born.

Dick struggled with the way they dealt with Jason’s birthday. Being the more positive one in the family, he didn’t like the fact no one celebrated the day- it just felt wrong.  In the days leading up to that first birthday without Jason, he decided he needed to do something. So, like he’d done in years past when Jason was still alive, he went out and bought him a birthday gift. He shopped around for nearly two days, waiting for something to catch his eye. And when he saw a brown leather jacket in a small consignment shop window, he knew he’d found something Jason would have liked. He had it gift-wrapped and even bought a card, writing a smartass comment in it before signing his name.   
   
He hadn’t really thought the plan through, however, and wasn’t sure what to do with the gift. Until he came up with a better option, the box and card were stored in a hall closet at his place in Bludhaven. The second year he got a set of action figures modeled after all of them, complete with Batman, Tim's version of Robin and Batgirl. He spent several hours painstakingly recreating Jason’s Robin costume with epoxy and paint before putting it back in the box. The card that went with it didn’t have a smart comment, only a sincere wish for a happy birthday.    
   
The third and fourth years were easier and Dick found himself looking forward to Jason’s birthday again, planning the gift with the excitement of a six-year-old. For year three, he had Barb help him put together a scrapbook of Jason’s time as Robin and for year four, he got the entire boxed set of Rocky movies since Jason had been such a fan of the franchise. Truthfully, Dick always knew Jason felt like he was the underdog and he wished he’d tried harder to show Jason he hadn’t been. The set of DVDs and the accompanying card went into the box in the hall closet.   
   
That fifth year, though, that was the hardest one yet. That was the year they found out Jason was alive and had been for quite some time. So as the summer went on, Dick realized he was getting apprehensive about Jason’s birthday, not excited. Forcing himself to focus on the fact Jason was back and that he wanted to make sure he knew Dick was around, he bought a deck of cards, a bottle of whiskey and found a business card for a local pool hall not far from the apartment Dick tracked Jason to one night. On the card he wrote his cell phone number.   
   
On the day of August sixteenth, five years after Jason died, Dick added the gift to the box from his closet. He brought it to Jason’s apartment, setting it down in front of the door. He knocked three times before leaving again, heading back down to the street to wait across the way from Jason’s window. He watched as a light in the living room came on and Jason appeared in the window, narrowing his eyes as he scanned the street. Dick waited until Jason spotted him before raising a hand and waving once. Jason’s expression softened a bit and he acknowledged Dick with a nod and a wave.    
   
Turning to leave, Dick smiled.   
   
 _Happy Birthday, Jaybird._


	7. Is that your cape?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm breaking my rules here with this chapter and the two that follow because they're all related to the same prompt. They center around a headcanon on tumblr (goo.gl/YvscWg) about how Bruce, Tim and Damian would react to someone borrowing/stealing their capes, sort of like how you steal a jacket or something of your significant other. And of course, Stephanie Brown popped into my head first. Because I adore her and want to be her.
> 
> This is definitely AU, considering how Steph was introduced. 
> 
> First up? She steals Bruce's cape.

Bruce glanced over Tim's head at the young blonde seated at the computer console, studying her as she spun around in the chair. She'd pushed her hood back, letting an unruly mane of blonde hair spill down her shoulders. She looked exhausted, but the adrenaline hadn't worn off yet and she was still grinning from ear to ear. They'd run into her on the outskirts of Gotham after they heard a call on the state patrol radio. She'd set up her father to be arrested after tiring of his criminal activity. Bruce was furious upon spotting her and immediately assumed she was a reckless maniac asking for trouble.

It turns out he was only  _partially_ correct.

While she may have been reckless, her heart was in the right place and the recklessness hadn't been intentional. So that's why, against Tim's strenuous and repeated objections, she rode back to the cave with them for a thorough debriefing and interrogation about what she thought she was doing, and the speech he had planned would put a stop to anything she had planned for that costume she was wearing. 

The minute the car doors closed she began a rapid-firing of questions. Tim groaned quietly from the back and met Bruce's eyes in the rearview mirror, pleading with him to silence her. Bruce's gruff demeanor and patented scowl had been ineffective with her and he couldn't help but be a little impressed. Maybe he'd been wrong in jumping to the conclusion she should be permanently banned from her newfound vigilante routine.

Dick was waiting for them when they got back to the cave, curious as to what Tim was so bent out of shape about that he'd sent him such an urgent text telling him to get home ASAP. Alfred filled him in and Dick couldn't  _wait_ to see Tim so riled up over a girl with a cape. She must be talented to get under his skin that quickly.

"She could have gotten hurt- she has no idea what she's doing!" Tim said, trying to keep his voice low. Dick shook his head and sighed.

"And we did when we first got started?"

"That's different."

"Great argument," Dick muttered. "I knew nothing about strategy and fighting when I first became Robin. And you certainly didn't know everything, either." He raised an eyebrow at Tim, who stared at the floor. "She set up that plan with no help from any of us and I think that says a lot." He turned and watched her, her eyes wide as she studied the cave around her. He smiled wistfully.

"Looks like it's finally registered where she's sitting."

Bruce paid no mind to them, instead watching as Stephanie's shoulders began to droop. She crossed her arms over her chest and looked around for a more comfortable place to land while they continued discussing her crime-fighting fate. She spotted the sofa by the med bay and headed straight for it, but not before backtracking to the computer console to swipe Batman's cape from the back of the chair. She wrapped herself in it and rubbed the soft fabric against her cheek before unceremoniously plopping down on the couch, laying her head down and closing her eyes.

Bruce had to try really hard to suppress a smile. Alfred glanced at Bruce and Dick and shook his head, putting his hand on both their shoulders before turning and going upstairs to make some hot chocolate.

"What's so funny?" Tim asked, looking up at Bruce, then at Dick. Dick rolled his eyes. He grabbed Tim by the shoulders and spun him around.

"Wow. That's.. she's," Tim paused, cocking his head to the side. "Is that  _your_ cape?"

"Clearly she's got no fear of the Batman," Dick said with a chuckle. He hooked his arm around Tim's neck, ruffling his hair. Tim pretended to be bothered by it and playfully shoved him.

Bruce nodded, still surprised she didn't so much as cower under his gaze. As much as he wanted to stay and talk to her, his night wasn't over yet. He pulled his cowl back up and over his head as he approached the sleeping girl. He didn't have it in him to wake her, instead heading to the armory to get a spare.

He looked over his shoulder one more time before getting in the Batmobile, watching as Dick and Tim stood over her, talking quietly. Tim then crouched next to the sofa, brushing some hair out of her face to get a better look at her.

Her hand shot out from beneath her cape-blanket, fingers wrapping tightly around his wrist. Tim yelped in surprise and nearly jumped out of his boots. Dick doubled over laughing.

"Creeper, much?"

Bruce sighed and got in the car.

_She'll fit in well here._


	8. You're the one!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Next up? Steph steals Tim's cape. Repeatedly and without hesitation. Because I love me some fluff, especially Tim/Steph fluff. 
> 
> Takes place in the general DCU. There's some mention of injuries here, but nothing violent or graphic.

She stood just outside the med bay watching Bruce and Alfred work on Tim. She had a nasty bruise forming on her cheek and after catching her reflection in the window of the Batmobile earlier, she was impressed that the angry purple splotch matched the purple in her suit. It had been a close call, barely getting to Tim in time when a raging fire collapsed the building. But she’d made it. She decided she would kick Firefly in the balls at  _least_ three timesnext time she saw him, after beating him senseless. That is, unless Jason got to him before she did. Jason would have a field day with him.  
  
She was pulled back into reality when a strong arm wrapped around her shoulders, gently pulling her sideways until she was tucked against a taller, solid frame. She knew it was Dick; she could always sense his warmth before she saw him. She wrapped her free arm around his waist, leaning her bruised face against the cool armor plating at his chest. Her other arm clutched Tim’s tattered, bloody cape and held it close.  
  
“He’ll be okay, Steph. We got there in time.  _You_ got there in time.” He hugged her tighter and leaned his cheek against the top of her head.

She nodded, but didn’t say anything and continued staring. Bruce was seated next to the treatment table talking quietly in his ear. Tim turned his head toward Bruce’s voice, his eyes closed, jaw clenched. Alfred also spoke to Tim as he worked to clean out a wound in Tim's side and stitch him back together.  
  
“But if I hadn’t…” she trailed off, swallowing around the painful ache in her throat. After breathing in all that smoke it hurt to swallow, let alone speak. It had taken every ounce of strength she could muster, plus some she didn’t know she had, to free Tim from the wreckage. More than once she wondered if she’d be able to save him.  
  
“Hey, none of that,” Dick said quietly. “You got him out and that’s what matters.” He looked down at her, watching as she clutched Tim’s cape to her chest and drew in a shaky breath. “He’s alive because of you. And nice work, by the way, using your grapple gun to lift that beam. That was clever.”  
  
She gave a halfhearted shrug and looked down at the cape in her arms, bringing it to her face. Despite the smoke and the ash and the blood, she could still smell Tim in the fabric and she inhaled deeply. His body wash. Coffee. The detergent Alfred used. It was the same smell in all of his clothes: familiar. Warm. Like home. Her eyes teared up and she kept them closed, breathing deeply to force herself to calm down. 

 _T_ _im is alive. He’s here. Chill out, Brown._  
  
Across the room, Bruce sighed and tilted his head up and back, rolling his head around to stretch his neck. His gaze stopped on Dick and Stephanie and his eyes widened at the bruise on her face. He carefully put Tim’s hand back on the table and gave it a squeeze.   
  
“Stephanie, let me have a look at your eye.”  
  
She opened her eyes, well,  _eye_ , now that she realized the right one was swollen shut, and looked at Bruce. She blushed when she realized she’d been standing there with Tim’s cape under her nose like a toddler snuggling a blanket.  
  
“What? Me? No, I’m fine. Really, I…”  
  
Dick stepped in front of her, tilting her chin up with his fingers. He winced. “Yikes, Steph. That’s one hell of a shiner. Let him have a look at it.”  
  
She turned slowly and approached Bruce, sitting on the stool he’d wheeled in front of him. He brushed her hair away from her face and gently prodded along her cheekbone and eye socket with the pad of his thumb. She hissed and pulled away when he hit a tender spot beneath her eye.  
  
“No broken bones that I can feel,” he said, “but with that eye swelling shut you’ll be off patrol until it heals.” He studied her good eye closely, tracking its movement and the dilation of the pupil. “What happened?”  
  
She looked at Tim, thinking long and hard about how she would answer, and clutched his cape even tighter. She knew what she'd done had been reckless, but there hadn't been any other options. Firefly came back to check on his handiwork and was standing over Tim, ready to finish the job with the red-hot piece of metal in his hand when she had come around the corner. She had barely enough time to tackle him. On the way down he’d swung his elbow back and nailed her in the face. Somehow she had gotten her hands on the metal bar and impaled his shoulder with it, forcing him to flee before Batman and Nightwing arrived on scene.  
  
“I… Well,” she bit her lip, looking down at Tim. “It all happened so fast…” She started coughing. Dick took the oxygen mask Alfred held out to him and put it against her face, his other hand rubbing circles on her back.  
  
“Breathe, kiddo. Nice and slow.” He looked at Bruce, then at Alfred. “You lose your respirator?”

She shook her head. “Gave it to him.” She coughed again and this time, Tim’s eyes shot open and he looked at Steph, noting the oxygen mask, then her rapidly-blackening eye. His voice was barely a whisper but full of relief.  
  
“Steph- oh my god. Are you okay?”  
  
There was a split-second pause before she dropped his cape and draped herself over him. Tim grimaced when she bumped against a few of his bruised ribs and other tender spots, but he shook his head when Bruce tried to pull her away. He wrapped an arm around her and squeezed.  
  
“I thought he killed you. One minute he was standing over me and the next you guys are on the ground and he’s trying to stab you.” He smoothed her hair back, minding her eye.   
  
Steph carefully stood up, wiping her eyes and picking up Tim’s cape from the floor. She coughed again, but refused the oxygen mask Dick was holding. She held the cape in front of her face again, standing at Tim’s feet between Bruce and Dick, the soft fabric and Tim’s familiar scent calming her down.  
  
 _He’s alive. He’s alive. He’s alive._

* * *

That night she couldn’t sleep. Tim was down the hall, safe in his own bed, medicated and resting. Dick was dozing in an over-sized chair next to Tim’s bed. Bruce was still out on patrol with Damian and Alfred was in the study doing whatever it is he did at night. The silence was deafening and every time she closed her eyes she saw Tim pinned under that beam. She sighed and rolled over, clutching one of Tim’s spare capes she'd snagged from the armory when she thought no one was looking. It wasn’t helping like it usually did.

  
She kicked off her blankets and crept into the hallway, tiptoeing down the hall to his room. She stopped outside and hugged the door frame, watching his chest rise and fall. Seeing him safe brought her some comfort but she knew the moment she went back to bed and tried to sleep, the nightmares would come. She thought he was asleep until he turned his head and his tired eyes met hers, a goofy, medicated smile tugging at his lips. When he saw how she was clinging to the door frame, though. the smile disappeared and was replaced with a frown.

"Are you alright?" his question was barely a whisper, but heavy with concern.

Steph gave a lazy shrug and nodded. She forced a smile and gave him a thumbs-up, since her throat was still too sore to speak. Tim rolled his eyes and gestured to the bed beside him. She looked at Dick, still sound asleep in the chair, and then back at Tim. Tim huffed a sigh and patted the bed beside him again. Steph shook her head and decided to put the ASL they learned the previous summer to good use. She let go of the door frame and started signing.  
  
 _“Can't sleep, and I wanted to check on you. Glad you’re okay. You had me scared.”_  
  
Tim frowned for a moment, shaking his head in disbelief.  
  
 _“I saw what you did, how you got me out."_  
  
Turns out he’d seen everything- that she’d taken down Firefly all alone against Batman's orders  **not** to engage, and dug Tim out of the rubble. It had been chaotic and panicked and downright ugly, but she'd been successful. But she had yet to talk to Bruce about what happened and she wasn't looking forward to that little talk. She grimaced as she signed back to him.  
  
 _“You were awake for all that?”_  
  
 _“Barely, but yeah.”_  He paused, a bit of worry flashing in his eyes before he could stop it.  _“He could have killed you, you know.”_  
  
She looked down at the floor, not knowing what to say. Even in the dark Tim could see her blush. He waited patiently until she answered.  
  
 _“It wasn’t an option to leave you there, Tim. You’d do the same for me.”_  
  
He nodded.  
  
 _“Always and without question.”_  

There was another pause and he tilted his head, staring at her. 

 _“You sure you’re okay?”_ His bruised and battered face still showed a lot of concern, despite the painkillers Alfred gave him. He patted the bed again.  _“Plenty of room here for you.”_

Steph shook her head and forced another smile.

“ _I’m okay. Get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning.”_  

As she turned to leave, Tim spoke. His voice was quiet. Timid.  
  
“Would you stay?”

She waited, biting her bottom lip. She looked down the hall at the guest room, then at the spot beside Tim, then at Dick.

“I can’t sleep and I know you can’t, either.” 

 _“Nightmares?”_  she signed. 

Tim didn't say a word and pushed the blankets back and opened his arms, waiting for her to climb in. She went around to the empty side of the bed and crawled in, snuggling carefully up against Tim’s side. She pulled the blankets up as she laid her head on his chest, the tears coming as his arm settled around her. His heart beating beneath her cheek was exactly what she needed.

They lay in silence for a while, Tim gently running his fingers through her hair. His other hand was clutched in one of hers over his chest. He thought she was asleep until she inhaled deeply, humming softly when she exhaled. Tim smiled and pressed his cheek to the top of her head, closing his eyes. Her hair smelled like his shampoo- the coconut one. His favorite. His eyes snapped open when something finally occurred to him.  
  
“You’re the one stealing my capes, aren’t you?” he asked. She looked up at him, her one eye still painfully swollen shut, and grinned.  
  
“Took you long enough, oh great detective,” she whispered hoarsely. “What can I say? You smell good.” She laid her head down on his shoulder this time, closing her eyes. “And you make me feel safe.”

Her voice was so quiet he almost missed her say it. Tim’s heart fluttered in his chest and he squeezed her tighter, feeling her relax against him as she fell asleep. He whispered into her hair.  
  
“Thank you for saving my life.”   
  
She let go of his hand long enough to sign a simple phrase.  
  
 _“You’re welcome.”_

Dick remained motionless in the chair, still feigning sleep.

But he was trying  **really**  hard not to smile.


	9. Why do you take mine?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And this is part 3. This time, Steph is stealing Damian's capes. General DCU. 
> 
> For the purposes of this piece, Damian’s 20 and Stephanie is about 27.
> 
> If anyone wants to make any requests, click the 'Fanfic Prompts' tag on the right side of my tumblr page, read through the prompt lists and pick something you'd like me to write! (mizmahlia.tumblr.com)

The night was still young by their standards. It was only two-thirty, but she was ready to call it quits. It was cold. The forecast had been bleak to start with, but once the wind picked up and the mercury fell below zero, Stephanie Brown was  _done_.   
   
“Batgirl to Robin.”   
   
“Go ahead.”   
   
“You find anything worth our time?” There was a pause and she shut her eyes, praying to all that was holy he hadn’t found anything.   
   
“The atrocious holiday decorations on the bank I’m looking at should be a crime,” he muttered, continuing to survey the city below him. “But no, nothing has caught my attention.”   
   
“You’re at First National, aren’t you?” 

The corners of Damian's mouth twitched, dangerously close to a smile. He was indeed across the street from Gotham First National Bank, high up on a Queen Industries building. The roof was twenty stories up and he was comfortably perched on the façade overlooking the gaudy decorations she was so fond of. He heard the sound of her grapple gun through his earpiece as she made her way to him.   
   
“Perhaps.”   
   
She landed quietly somewhere behind him and Damian barely heard her as she approached. She gave him a hefty punch to the shoulder. He glanced sideways, arching an eyebrow.   
   
“What was that for?” 

“Calling my favorite Christmas decorations in all of Gotham a crime.”   
   
“But am I wrong?” He turned his focus back to the bank below. Stephanie sighed and grinned. 

“No, they are pretty tacky. But they're the fun kind of tacky.” She dusted the snow off the ledge next to him and sat down, her hip and leg flush against him. He bristled at the contact, but she ignored it.    
   
"Must you invade my personal space? There's plenty of room." He nodded to the rest of the ledge that spanned at least fifty feet in either direction.   
   
“Yeah, I know. But the spot here,” she said, wriggling for emphasis, “is next to you, mister furnace, therefore it’s warm. And I’m absolutely freezing. Problem solved.”   

“Tt." 

With feigned annoyance he raised his arm to allow her to scoot closer to him before wrapping it and his cape around her. He pulled her smaller frame against his side and felt her shaking as she leaned into him. Absently he rubbed her upper arm and shoulder as he stared out into the darkness. She sighed again and this time he knew she was smiling that dorky, wistful smile of hers. Something in his stomach began flipping somersaults and he willed it to stop.   
   
“I can see why you like sitting here,” she said, looking out at the sprawling city below them. “It’s got a nice view of the harbor.” 

She grabbed the edge of his cape and pulled it around her face to block the wind, the fabric soft and warm against her cheek. She closed her eyes a moment and smiled. It smelled so very Damian.   
   
“It’s not the tallest building in Gotham, but the location offers a tactical advantage.”   
   
She rolled her eyes.  

“You just like sitting here because it’s Oliver Queen’s building and you can assert your Bat-dominance.” She nodded to the security cameras at the roof entrance behind them. “You know he can see you.”   
   
Damian smirked but said nothing.    
   
“You know, this city isn’t without its problems, but on nights like tonight it’s easy to forget about all the crap we deal with.”   
   
He hummed quietly in agreement. He had to admit it was nice to have a night like this once in a while. People here in Gotham deserved the break, his present company included. It was one of her first nights back out after being cleared to resume patrol since Black Mask nearly killed her four months ago. Her physical injuries had healed, but he knew she was still having vivid nightmares and panic attacks despite her efforts to hide them. She’d scared them all senseless the first time she’d woken up screaming. Everyone home that night rushed to her room, but, much to the chagrin of Tim, Damian was the only one she would allow to get close to her.    
   
In the nights that followed, she would sleep in his bed while he was on patrol or steal one of his capes and sit in the theatre room, falling asleep watching Disney movies. She never tried to hide the fact she’d slept in his room, but they never spoke about it, either. She never remade his bed and he could smell her shampoo on his pillow. Sometimes his bed was still warm like she’d just crawled out of it. He’d never admit that it disappointed him; he’d started hoping she would be there when he got home. He didn’t necessarily mind her behavior, but it was something he didn’t fully understand, and he was too stubborn to ask anyone about it.   
   
He was pulled from his thoughts when she started shaking again. He stole a glance from the corner of his eye. Her cheeks were bright red, and her lips were nearly blue, but she was smiling.   
   
“How can frostbite possibly make you that happy?”   
   
She snorted. 

“Does wonders for my complexion.”   
   
Damian was glad his hood was up so she couldn’t see the exasperated look he gave her. But she knew him so well she didn’t have to see it to know it was there. Her voice was quiet, nearly lost in the wind. 

“It’s nice to be back out here.” She paused. “You know I haven’t had a panic attack in over two weeks?”   
   
He swallowed hard and nodded, his arm instantly pulling her closer to him. That one had been particularly severe. They were taking care of a smuggling ring when out of nowhere, Black Mask came strolling in, bragging about bribing his way out on bail. Stephanie startled and nearly fell from the beam she was sitting on. Damian grappled over and caught her before anyone spotted her. He’d carried her up to the roof, calling Drake to provide some backup for Father. Nothing he tried helped until he remembered overhearing Drake talking her through one once.   
   
He'd pressed her hand to the center of his chest and leaned his forehead against hers, calmly asking her to look at him and breathe. Her eyes locked with his, but she couldn’t focus with all the noise coming from below. Without hesitation he’d hauled her into his lap, wrapped his arms around her and she covered her ears with her hands. That did the trick. 

So now with Roman Sionis once again a resident of the maximum-security wing at Blackgate, she was allowed back on patrol and here they sat. A brooding Robin sheltering a partially-frozen Batgirl beneath his cape. She'd tucked herself against his chest to block her face from the wind, his cape still wrapped tightly around her.   
   
“If you’re that cold, we can head home. Father would kill me if I allowed you to lose fingers and toes.”   
   
He actually felt her roll her eyes, which he had to admit was impressive. Had she rolled them any harder they would have gotten lodged in her head somewhere. 

“Since when do you 'allow' me to do anything?” she asked, jabbing a sharp elbow into his ribs as she disentangled herself from his arm and cape. “You should respect your elders, D. We have ways of making your life miserable.”   
   
“Too late.”   
   
He earned another jab, though this one had less force behind it. 

“C’mon. I’ll race you home.” She grinned and stood, holding a hand out to him. He refused so she sprinted across the roof, gracefully leaping from the opposite edge and grappling toward home. Damian stood and took off after her. 

There was no  _way_ she would beat him home. 

* * *

Damian entered the cave and stopped in his tracks; she had somehow managed to beat him back. She was across the cave behind the workbench where Tim was working on his latest project. He was making notes on a laptop and completely oblivious to Stephanie creeping up behind him, and Damian watched as she wrapped her frigid hands around his neck. He yelped in surprise and nearly fell off his chair. Their backs were turned so Damian didn’t bother to hide his glare as he made his way toward the changing area. 

   
“I was wondering when you’d get here!” she said, turning to face him. She was grinning from ear to ear.   
   
“Someone had to follow to make sure you didn’t plummet to your death because you couldn’t feel your hands.”    
   
Tim was pouring a cup of coffee and reading over his notes. He looked up at Damian as he passed. 

“Hey, Damian.”   
   
“Drake.”   
   
He joined Stephanie near the med bay where she had already taken off her suit and was down to her insulated base layers. She kept pausing and rubbing her arms, trying to get warm.    
   
“You’d think I’d be warm after all this reveling in my success.”   
   
He said nothing but removed his cape and draped it around her shoulders before sitting down to take off his boots.    
   
“Thanks.”    
   
He nodded and continued taking off his gear, hanging it neatly on the hooks in front of him, pausing a moment before turning and facing her.   
   
“You used to steal Drake’s capes. Why?”   
   
The question came out of nowhere and she stared at him blankly for a moment before sitting down.    
   
“Well...” She rubbed her hands together and Damian noticed how pale they were. He went over to the workbench, grabbed a mug and filled it with coffee from the carafe sitting next to Tim. Tim opened his mouth to protest, but said nothing when Damian handed the mug to Stephanie and sat down next to her. She wrapped her hands around the mug and sighed, the warmth leeching into her fingers. 

“Thanks.”    
   
“So, why did you?” He leaned his elbows on his knees and stared at the mug in her hands while studying her face in his periphery.   
   
“Several reasons. Sometimes I needed the reassurance he was okay after getting hurt. Other times I needed something familiar, something positive when the home situation sucked.” Then she smiled, staring into the mug. “And he smelled nice.”   
   
Damian noticed how she smiled when she talked about Tim and he wondered if she ever smiled that way when she thought about him. The thought that she might made him happier that he cared to admit, and he bit his cheek, forcing himself to focus. 

“Then…” he started, his voice cautious. Unusually quiet. “Why do you take mine?”   
   
She thought for a moment and was careful how she responded. She’d picked up on the hesitation and knew when she heard that, he was letting his guard down. And that certainly didn’t happen often.    
   
“It reminds me of the night four months ago.” She tried to sound casual, to keep it light, but she knew he could hear the fear in her voice at the mere mention of it.   
   
Damian’s expression darkened at the memory. She’d been beaten so badly they thought she was already dead when they arrived. He remembered seeing red before Dick held him back while Father and Drake took Sionis down. Dick told Damian to get her to the car so they could get Sionis out before Damian got a hold of him.   
   
“Why on  _earth_  would you want to remember that night? You nearly died.” His hands clenched into fists. She leaned forward and put her hand over one of them, squeezing gently. He relaxed his hands and she turned one of his palms up, lacing her fingers between his. His hand dwarfed hers when he returned the gesture. 

“But I didn’t. You saved my life, Damian.” She looked at him. “I thought I was dead, but when I heard your voice, I knew I’d be okay.”   
   
Damian froze. He remembered what he’d said to her, verbatim, and didn’t realize she’d been conscious for that. Crimson swept over his cheeks and he cast his eyes downward, suddenly embarrassed. She’d probably heard everything- the promises and confessions he'd made, how broken he'd sounded, and yet, she'd never said anything.   
   
“I felt safe,” she continued and tilted her head a little to catch his gaze. She nudged his arm, trying to get him to look at her. “And you smell nice. Like that tea you’re always drinking, and that scented stuff Cass brought back for you.” She paused, a small smile working its way across her lips. “And spoiled Batbrat.” 

Damian rolled his eyes and tried to fight the laugh that bubbled up from his chest, managing to smother most of it, but not before he snorted softly. Steph grinned.   
   
“So that’s why. You wrapped your cape around me, and I knew I’d be alright because you were there. Stealing your capes now, when I’m having a rough day, reminds me that you'll be there.” She stood and unwrapped the cape, hugging it one more time before giving it back to him.   
   
“A hot bath is calling my name. See you later, D.”   
   
Damian was speechless. He sat there a moment, staring down at the cape in his hands, trying to process everything she’d said. He was so lost in thought he hadn’t heard Tim approach and startled slightly when he’d leaned up against the wall next to him. Tim waited until she was at the top of the stairs before leaning down and closing Damian’s mouth.   
   
“For someone so smart, you know  _so_  little.”   
   
He grinned and shook his head, turning to get back to work. Damian stood and moved to hang up his cape, but not before holding it to his nose. The first thing he noticed was that it smelled like her. He smiled to himself.   
   
He could get used to that. 


	10. He was always a natural.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another Jason-centric chapter that's set in the general DCU. Baseball season is here and Jason seems like he'd be naturally athletic. And I have a thing for baseball players, so...
> 
> Prompt for this chapter: He was always a natural.

It was a balmy Tuesday evening in July, that rare time of day when the sun still had some kick to it but the shadows brought some relief. Jason Todd was walking home from the small market a few blocks from his place, a bag of groceries in each hand, annoyed with the rare Gotham sunshine. He could feel beads of sweat dripping down his face and neck and he regretted his choice to stop to get something for dinner while wearing a long sleeve shirt and jeans. He'd been working on his motorcycles and the air conditioning in the garage wasn't working. Instead of a comfortable seventy-two degrees, it was only sixty- cool enough he needed extra layers despite the summer heat outside.

The second to last block was a long one, as it was a block with one of the city's handful of baseball fields and a park. There were two softball teams warming up and he easily recognized the sounds of batting practice, the metal bats ringing loudly. He was walking past right field and heard the telltale crack of a bat making contact. Instinctively he turned and tracked it, watching as it sailed over the fence and landed ten feet to his left. The right fielder trotted up to the fence, a friendly smile on his face.  
  
"Hey! Can you toss that back in?"

"Sure."

Jason set his bags on the sidewalk and leaned down to pick up the ball, his fingers automatically gripping its seams. It had been years since he'd played baseball and his curiosity got the better of him. He turned toward home plate and threw it as hard as he could. It sailed over the heads of the first and second basemen and landed in the catcher's mitt with a satisfying 'thunk'. The right fielder turned and looked at him.

"That's quite a cannon you've got there. Do you play?"

Memories of Saturday afternoons spent with Bruce at batting cages and amateur baseball games came rushing back to him, making his chest ache. He glanced at the group of players walking toward them and part of him wanted to get the hell out of there, but another part of him wanted to hang around to see what happened.  
  
"I played some baseball when I was a kid."  
  
"You can throw like that and you haven't played since you were a kid?"  
  
Jason shrugged, trying not to smile.  
  
"Some things never leave you, I guess."  
  
"I guess. My name's Brandon, by the way."  
  
"Jay."  
  
"Nice to meet you, Jay. This might be weird, but we're one man short tonight. Would you be interested in playing? It's slow-pitch softball, and it's a double-header. There’s beer in it for you."  
  
Several of Brandon's teammates joined them. The one who caught Jason's throw chimed in.  
  
"We don't care if you can't hit. With an arm like yours, it wouldn't matter."  
  
Jason glanced toward home and back at the four men staring at him from the other side of the fence. It's not like he had anything going on tonight, not until much later, anyway. And he had some of his old gear he'd taken from the manor on a whim a few months back. It couldn't hurt to do something fun for a change, something that didn't involve gallivanting across rooftops or playing hide and seek with the city's criminals.  
  
"I can be back in ten minutes. I'll go grab my stuff."  
  
Brandon grinned.  
  
"Great! The game doesn't start for about half hour. We're up to bat first but you'll have time to get warmed up and check out their pitcher."  
  
"Sounds good."  
  
Brandon and his teammates turned and headed back to the infield. Jason continued down the block toward his place, forgetting all about the heat and humidity.

After shoving the important grocery items in his fridge, he changed into an old t-shirt and shorts. The bag with his cleats, batting gloves and mitt was buried in his hall closet along with an old pair of running shoes. He swiped a bottle of water from the fridge and grabbed his keys before rushing back out the door. He was in such a hurry to get back to the park he didn't notice Tim approaching from the opposite direction, his laptop bag slung over his shoulder and earbuds in his ears. His gaze was focused on his phone so he didn’t see Jason at first.  
  
Jason took off at a brisk pace toward the park and Tim stopped a moment, doing a double-take when he realized it was actually Jason he'd seen carrying a baseball bag. He gave Jason a considerable head start before he followed. If this was going to play out the way he hoped it would, he had to see it for himself.  
  
He watched Jason join a team in one of the dugouts and he looked around for a secluded spot where he could watch. There was a small cafe across the street with an open table just inside by the window that offered an excellent view of the field. He ducked in and set up his computer, ordered a large iced coffee and pretended to get to work.  
  
Jason couldn't remember the last time he'd been this excited to do something normal, but he knew it had been a while. Brandon introduced him to the rest of the team and then started putting together a batting order while Jason put his cleats on. There was an old, faded Gotham Knights baseball cap in his bag that he'd forgotten he had, the same cap Bruce got for him at their first game together. He stared at it for a moment, running his thumb over the logo and remembering how much fun they had that night and how many games they went to after that.  
  
"Jay, you're batting cleanup!"  
  
Brandon’s voice startled him and he nodded, choosing a bat from the rack hanging on the fence. He took several practice swings to loosen up. The catcher, Sam, approached him.  
  
"Did Brandon give you the rundown of how this league works?"  
  
"Let's hear it."  
  
"We're only allowed three home runs before they're counted as outs. So if you're gonna hit one, make sure it's worth it."  
  
Jason grinned and watched as their lead-off batter hit a ground ball to third base, failing to outrun the throw to first.  
  
"So go big or go home?"  
  
Sam nodded.

"Pretty much. Or be prepared to bring a case of beer the next week for each out you cost us."  
  
"I think I can manage that."  
  
"Good. The only other thing is that the count starts at one ball, one strike. Keeps the game moving."  
  
Their second batter hit a line drive to left field, sliding into second base with a double. Someone yelled from the other side of the dugout.  
  
"Jay! You're on deck!"  
  
He made his way toward the entrance to the dugout, watching their third batter send a pitch out into right field just beyond the reach of the outfielder. They now had runners on first and third with one out. Jason walked to the plate and stepped into the batters box, turning his hat backwards and settling into his stance. He watched two pitches go by, seeing what the umpire's strike zone looked like, before swinging at the third pitch.  
  
The sharp crack of the bat got everyone's attention and the whole team was on its feet in the dugout, screaming for a home run. Jason tossed the bat aside and sprinted toward first, easing up as the ball easily sailed over the fence in center field. As he rounded third he started laughing. Brandon stood just beyond the plate, arms crossed over his chest, a grin plastered on his face.  
  
"Boys, I think we've got a ringer, here."  
  
Jason gave high-fives to the teammates who were crowded around the entrance to the dugout.  
  
"Like I said. Some things never leave you."  
  
Brandon picked up his bat and pointed it at Jason.  
  
"Are you free next week? Please tell me you can play."  
  
"I can probably make it work."  
  
Tim watched the celebration from his spot at the cafe, grinning to himself. He stopped recording after Jason crossed home plate, saving the file in a secure folder on his phone for later. He wouldn't have believed it had he not seen in with his own two eyes. Jason, someone he just realized he didn't actually know that well, wearing a t-shirt that had seen better days instead of armor and a leather jacket, hitting home runs and laughing. Add the backwards baseball cap and a shock of his unruly black hair jutting out the front, and Jason looked so much younger. He looked like someone his age _should_ look- relaxed and happy.  
  
Tim leaned back in his chair, stretching as he watched as Jason's team take the field. He figured he'd stick around long enough to see what Jason would do in the outfield before heading back to his place for a few hours of work before patrol. He ordered another iced coffee and turned back to the game.  
  
Jason took his position out in left field and watched as the first batter stepped into the box. He took a few pitches before grounding out to second base. The next batter doubled to right center field. The third batter, a guy with a build about the same as Jason's, stepped up to the plate and glanced out in his direction. Jason could see the smirk all the way from left field; this guy was thinking he would either hit over the fence or drop it in the gap between him and the left-center fielder.  
  
"Not gonna happen," Jason muttered, taking several large steps backward.  
  
The batter took two pitches before swinging, the ball screaming off the end of the bat. Jason watched as it sailed high into the air and he sprinted toward center field to get underneath it, but he realized he wasn't close enough. Using everything he'd learned as a kid, he changed course and darted toward center, timing his dive perfectly as the ball dropped into his glove. He immediately rolled and climbed to his knees, throwing the ball to the third baseman who tagged the runner out as he rounded third too early. He must have assumed Jason wouldn’t make the play. He could hear Brandon giving him a hard time all the way from right field.  
  
"Oh, come on! You and that arm cannon are making us all look ridiculous!"  
  
Jason laughed and stood up, brushing grass off his shirt and putting his hat back on.  
  
"I'll dial it back next inning, I promise!"  
  
He shook his head and went back to his preferred spot. The next batter was a lefty and he'd likely hit it out to right field anyway, so he had some time to catch his breath. He had no idea he'd still be able to play this well, after all this time and after everything that had happened these last few years. While it definitely felt strange at first, hanging around 'normal' people doing 'normal' things, it was something he could get used to.  
  
He would have to start clearing his schedule on Tuesdays just for this.  
  
Tim stuck around for a few more innings; he was having a lot of fun watching Jason make everyone look ridiculous. He thought about sending the video to Dick but decided against it. He knew the last thing Jason wanted was anyone knowing about this and Dick, as much as he loved him, would probably never let this go and would insist on coming to watch. And that would pretty much guarantee Jason would never play again and would withdraw even further.  
  
He knew Bruce needed to see it, though. He had a feeling this was something they had in common once, as Bruce mentioned something about baseball to Jason a while back and Tim saw how Jason bristled at the comment and pretended like he hadn't heard it.  
  
Tim smiled as he packed up his laptop and finished his coffee. He'd have to try and keep anyone from bothering Jason on Tuesdays, at least for the rest of the summer. He deserved some time to himself, some time to _be_ himself. As he left the cafe and turned back toward where he'd parked, he heard the crack of a bat and people cheering. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Jason running the bases, sliding into third with the ease and grace of a professional ballplayer. He smiled and shook his head.

_Who knew we had another athlete in the family?_

* * *

The next morning Tim joined Bruce for breakfast, an uncharacteristic move as of late. He usually slept through breakfast, allowing himself some extra sleep before heading to work. Bruce was reading the paper and nursing a cup of coffee when Tim came in, surprisingly awake and coherent.  
  
"Morning, Tim."  
  
Tim nodded at Bruce and poured himself some coffee before sitting down across the table, putting his bag on the floor by his chair.  
  
"Morning, Bruce."  
  
He looked at Tim who was doing everything he could to avoid looking at him.  
  
"You're up early."

Tim cringed when he burned his tongue on his coffee.

"I‘m starving."

He reached for one of the bagels on the plate in the middle of the table, spreading cream cheese over it. Bruce studied him, not believing in the slightest that Tim would get out of bed before 8am just to eat.

"Is everything okay?"  
  
Tim nodded and pulled a tablet from his bag.  
  
"Can I ask you something? About Jason?"  
  
Bruce laid the paper on the table, leaning back and crossing his arms.  
  
"Sure."  
  
Tim looked at him and blinked, momentarily confused at Bruce's willingness to actually answer a question.  
  
"It's nothing serious, it's just… last night I saw something and I'm having a hard time wrapping my head around it."  
  
Bruce closed his eyes and braced himself for whatever Tim might show him, leaning forward again. Tim unlocked his tablet and brought up a video before handing it to Bruce.  
  
"I'll explain. Just hit 'play'."  
  
Tim studied Bruce as he watched the video, noticing how his breath hitched when Jason hit the home run and again when he made the diving catch in the outfield. He replayed the videos twice more before sliding the tablet back to Tim. He swallowed several times before trying to speak, and his voice was strained when he did.  
  
"That was last night?"  
  
Tim nodded.  
  
"I was going to ask him for help on something. I saw him going to the park, so I followed him. From what I could hear, they needed an extra player. He has a **really** strong arm."  
  
Bruce rubbed a hand across his chest, the fond memories soothing the pain of missing out on so much the last few years. It was nice to see his son so happy, doing something he'd loved as a child. Even if it no longer included him.  
  
"It was so weird to watch. I know he's strong and athletic and everything, but this was... different." He stared at the tablet, the video paused on the screen. “I had no idea he could play.”  
  
Bruce smiled into his coffee, thinking about all the games they attended together, the late-night sessions playing catch after patrol, the hours at the batting cages. Jason was pure, raw talent when it came to sports, but baseball had been his favorite.  
  
"I knew."

 _I figured,_ Tim thought. He knew Bruce would be able to figure out where Jason was playing, so his work was done. He stood and refilled his mug, forcing himself to eat the rest of his bagel.  
  
"I've gotta get going. I'll see you later at the office."

He grabbed his bag and left the tablet in front of Bruce. Before Bruce could say anything, Tim was gone and conspicuously without his tablet. Bruce played the videos again, his words echoing in the empty kitchen.  
  
"He always was a natural."

 


	11. Scream. Scream. Or I will make you scream.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Scream. Scream. Or I will make you scream.”
> 
> Taken from the prompt list: Batman Comic Sentence Starters. It was originally uttered by Scarecrow in Batman #630.
> 
> Warnings: angst, blood, injury, depression, self-harm. There's nothing incredibly graphic, just mention of it.
> 
> This takes place in the general DCU.

 

Victor Szasz held a knife to the doctor’s throat, his hands shaking ever-so-slightly at the chance he would be able to add another tally to his body. He had the perfect place picked out for this one- a small patch behind his right knee. But he couldn’t help her until she begged for her life. Only then could he kill her and claim his reward.   
   
“All you have to do is scream for me, my child, and I will set you free. It’s that simple.”   
   
He broke free of his restraints during a wound cleaning procedure due to a massive infection on his left leg. Despite the hospital ward at Arkham receiving an expansive face lift, complete with state-of-the-art security upgrades courtesy of the Wayne Foundation, restraints only worked when someone left them alone. The nurse assisting the surgeon for the procedure released the restraints as the surgeon was scrubbing in, under threat that her entire family would be slaughtered if she didn’t do what they asked. She’d gambled at the wrong casino two months earlier and when she couldn’t pay off her debt, the Falcones came after her  **hard**.

Sarah hid behind the gurney Victor had been strapped to, clutching a scalpel and a syringe of propofol she prepped for him prior to surgery. She watched as Victor held Doctor Anders, his scarred arm tightly around her neck, and once again told her to scream. Doctor Anders looked like she might pass out and Sarah hoped she would; being unconscious for her death would make it easier. From the corner of her eye, she saw the security staff frantically trying to keep the rioting inmates from entering that part of the medical ward.   
   
As Victor was about to slit her throat, the door to the operating suite opened with a bang. Red Robin entered, his staff drawn at his side. He looked at Susan and nodded to his right, indicating she should circle back toward him to get out. She took a few steps toward him and Victor panicked.   
   
“NO! No one leaves this room! Not until I’m finished!”   
   
Red Robin sighed and collapsed his staff.    
   
“Victor, you can let the doctor and the nurse go. Take me instead. I know you’ve saved a spot for all of us.”   
   
Sarah watched as Victor’s eyes lit up and a crazed smile spread across his face. He practically shoved Doctor Anders at Red Robin, scrubbing a hand over his face in glee.   
   
“How right you are, little bird. I have a spot right here,” he tapped the bare skin above his heart, “saved for the lot of you.”    
   
Red Robin ushered Doctor Anders out the door behind him, motioning for Sarah to do the same. She put the scalpel back on the tray and shoved her hands in the pockets of her scrubs. Her fingers wrapped around the syringe, still with its cap on, and she carefully moved toward the door. She bit her lip and paused when she was close enough, noticing the unprotected skin between Red Robin’s sleeve and his gloves.    
   
“I’m sorry for this,” she whispered. “But Falcone said he’d kill my family.”   
   
She uncapped the syringe and plunged it into his bicep, pushing the plunger down. She darted from the room and slammed the door behind her, hitting the panic button that locked the room down. Red Robin pulled the needle from his arm and looked at her in shock, registering what she said before he passed out a minute later.

When Tim came to, he was strapped to a table. The harsh lights above his head were blinding, making it impossible to see where he was. He winced and turned his head to the side. The light was shifted, and he relaxed, the spots in his vision starting to fade.   
   
“Ah, there you are. I was hoping it wouldn’t take long for you to wake up.”   
   
Tim blinked and rolled his head to his right, coming face to face with Victor Szasz.    
   
 _Oh, yay. This couldn’t have gone any better._    
   
Once he saw Red Robin was conscious, Victor resumed his pacing around the room, rambling about the voices in his head and how they were telling him to set Red Robin free. His excited gibberish made Tim nervous, but he knew the moment he panicked, it would set Victor off. And as long as he was pacing and ranting, he wasn’t focused on cutting Tim’s throat.    
   
He couldn’t have been out for too long; from the commotion he could hear in his ear piece, the one Victor thankfully hadn’t discovered, the riot in the rest of Arkham was still happening. He could hear Batman and Robin clearing their way through the intensive treatment wing, where the riot started, which meant he’d only been unconscious for twenty, maybe twenty-five minutes, tops.    
   
“Batman to Red Robin. Status report. What’s your location?”   
   
Tim didn’t answer, as Victor was still rambling and pacing the room, wildly waving the scalpel in the air. Since his hands were tied down, he couldn’t tap the comm in his ear to activate it.    
   
“And that’s when I knew, I just  **knew** , that I had to liberate the Bats here in Gotham. And only then can I finish what I started.”    
   
Victor stopped by Tim’s head, bending over his face. His pupils were dilated, and he was drooling.   
   
“What do you say, Red Robin? Are you ready to make that sacrifice?”   
   
Tim was never more grateful for re-enabling the live feed to the camera in his mask. Whenever someone didn’t check in, Batman immediately had Oracle check the video feed for whoever was missing.    
   
“Batman to Oracle. Access the live feed from Red Robin’s mask.”    
   
Victor tapped Tim’s cheek with the flat edge of the scalpel. Tim tried not to flinch.   
   
“Well, little bird, are you ready to sacrifice yourself? Are you ready to be set free?”   
   
The quiet voice in the back of Tim’s mind, the one that was telling him again lately that he was better off alone, that he should push away anyone who cares about him because he’ll lose them anyway, the one Tim was struggling to keep quiet, spoke up.    
   
 _Better you than the hostages. They can get back to their families now. This is the way it should be. You won’t have to suffer through losing anyone else if Victor finishes this. Just let him._    
   
Tim blinked, feeling tears pricking his eyes. He was tired of feeling so empty and lonely and numb. And he was so over that voice,  **his** voice, telling him that it was better him than someone else. Maybe Victor was right.   
   
“ _Batman, you need to get to the medical wing_   ** _now_** _. Szasz has Red Robin hostage and he’s getting ready to do what he does best.”_    
   
Oracle’s voice in his ear startled him and he inhaled sharply, in turn startling Victor. He dropped the scalpel and it nicked Tim’s cheek. Victor shivered in delight, swiping at the drop of blood that appeared with a calloused fingertip.   
   
“Are you ready for the end, Red Robin? Are you ready to be free?”   
   
This time, Damian’s voice was in his ear piece.   
   
 _“Robin to Batman. I’m closest, I’ll intervene.”_    
   
Tim squeezed his eyes shut.    
   
 _Not Damian. Anyone but him. He’d never hear the end of this._    
   
 _“Affirmative, Robin. I’ll join you as soon as I can.”_    
   
Tim closed his eyes and turned his head away from Victor, his cheeks flushing red with embarrassment. When Victor realized he was being ignored, he got angry.   
   
“LISTEN TO ME, YOU RUDE LITTLE BIRD!”   
   
He slammed his hand down on the gurney next to Tim’s face, the impact rattling his teeth in his head. Victor launched into another tirade about being disrespected and ignored before demanding Tim play along with his stupid game.   
   
“Make this interesting, birdie. You  **need**  to make this interesting. It’s the only way it can work.”   
   
Tim sighed wearily. He didn’t have the energy for this anymore. Not for tonight, not in general.   
   
“No.”   
   
Victor held the scalpel to Tim’s carotid artery. His voice was quiet, but shaky.    
   
“Now be a good boy and scream for me.”   
   
“Not going to happen.”   
   
In that moment, Tim was calm. He wasn’t scared, he wasn’t panicking. His heartbeat wasn’t erratic; it was steady. He felt no ill will toward the nurse who drugged him, because that voice in his head was right; better him than her. From the moment he pleaded with Batman to take on a Robin, he knew, deep down, that it could end this way. But he always figured he would be afraid to die, and so far, he wasn’t afraid. He found he was wishing Victor would hurry up. And that bothered him, just a little. He knew it should bother him more. But he didn’t have the energy to care.   
   
Victor had turned his back while Tim was lost in thought and turned around with a steel orthopedic mallet in one hand, a scalpel still in the other. He put the scalpel down next to Tim’s head and held Tim’s hand in place on the table. He looked down at his hand and realized, for the first time, that Victor had removed his gloves while he was unconscious.   
   
“This isn’t any fun when the patient is so quiet,” he said, twirling the mallet. He raised the mallet up over his head and brought it down hard across the back of Tim’s hand. There was an audible crunch and Tim bit his tongue, trying not to cry out. He managed to stifle a cry, muffling it to a pained grunt. Victor tossed the mallet back onto the surgical tray, the loud clang of steel on steel making Tim wince.   
   
He picked up the scalpel again, gently running it along the inside of Tim’s left bicep, dangerously close to his brachial artery. He grinned viciously.   
   
“Scream. Scream! Or I will  _make_ you scream.”   
   
Tim clenched his jaw and looked away from Victor, closing his eyes and waiting for him to sever the artery. He figured he would bleed to death in a few minutes, falling unconscious before that. It was infinitely better than Victor choosing to sever the carotid artery and he would be conscious long enough to see his heart pump the life right out of his body.   
   
He wearily opened his eyes after a few seconds, wondering why Victor hadn’t made his move, and that was when he caught sight of Robin standing outside the door of the operating room. Robin’s eyes widened beneath his mask and Tim felt a burning sensation as scalpel cut into his arm. He flinched but didn’t make a sound. Robin cracked the window with his fist, his yelling muffled by the heavy door.   
   
Victor turned and looked behind him and smiled, pointing at Robin over his shoulder with the tip of the blade.   
   
“Well, if you won’t scream, I bet I can get  **him** to.”   
   
He raised the scalpel above his head and got ready to plunge it into Tim’s neck. With a furious yell, Robin kicked the door in, sending a batarang slicing into Victor’s hand and he dropped the scalpel. Victor fell to his knees and smiled, almost in bliss.   
   
“I do love the sound of a good scream.”    
   
Robin knocked him out with a kick to his face. Turning to Tim, he started removing the restraints.    
   
“Nice plan. Did you really think it would work?” If he was alarmed at the amount of blood beneath Tim’s arm, he didn’t show it. Tim noticed he didn’t sound like Damian usually did. He didn’t sound annoyed or condescending. He sounded... concerned? Was that it? Could Damian actually be concerned about him? But instead of dwelling on that concept, Tim did what he usually did.

He deflected.   
   
“You’re telling me that you knew the nurse was in too deep and owed someone a favor?” He slowly sat up and tried to stand, only to be pushed into a nearby chair. Damian applied a tourniquet to Tim’s upper arm and started bandaging it.   
   
“Tt. Who around here  **isn’t**  working for the scum of Gotham?” he muttered. “But human sacrifice isn’t the way to resolve things.” He threw Tim a pointed glare, which Tim ignored, focusing instead on the blood pooled on the green tile beneath the table.    
   
“Did you even try to get out of these restraints?” he asked, adding another compress to the wound. “These are like child’s play to us.”   
   
Under normal circumstances, he would have said something like ‘so that’s why you’re so good at it, then,’ but he didn’t have the energy. He was feeling tired and struggled to keep his head up. The last thing he heard before he passed out was Damian’s slightly-panicked voice telling Batman to hurry up and demanding that he stay awake.

When he came to the second time, he was back in the cave on a bed in the medical bay. His left hand was in a cast halfway to his elbow and his left bicep was covered in gauze, bandages and tape. There was an IV in his right arm and a bag of blood hanging above him. The lights were mercifully dimmed. He expected to see Bruce sitting next to him, but instead the chair was occupied by the smaller version.   
   
Damian was stretching a small length of Coban bandage over a piece of gauze on his elbow. They couldn’t have been back more than a few hours; he was still wearing the lower half of his Robin uniform and a black t-shirt. But it was long enough that he’d had time to donate blood. Tim frowned. He wasn’t even aware he and Damian were a match.   
   
“Care to tell me what that was all about?” Damian began to unlace his boots, his nimble fingers making quick work of it. Tim felt a little loopy after whatever they gave him for his hand and arm, and he eyed Damian warily.   
   
“I got the civilians out of the way by taking their place. It’s what we always do.” He stared up at the expanse of the cave and pointedly not at Damian.   
   
“That’s not what I’m referring to and I know you’re not foolish enough to pretend otherwise, Drake.”   
   
Tim swallowed and coughed, his throat dry and hoarse. Damian handed him a cup of water with a straw. Tim took it and drank until it was empty.   
   
“Then enlighten me.”   
   
Damian was usually articulate with almost no filter, but in this case, he wasn’t sure how to say what was really on his mind. When it involved sensitive or emotional matters, he wasn’t much better at talking about them than Father was. He stared at Tim’s arm for a moment, and then at his own. Then he looked over at the mess Alfred was cleaning up; the mop and bucket, its water clouded red from the puddle of blood on the floor under Tim’s arm. Tim’s discarded shirt and armor, both stained with blood, on the floor near the laundry bin. His watchful gaze came back to rest on Tim. He was still staring at the ceiling. In the harsh lights of the medical bay, dim as they were at the moment, he looked deathly pale.

Then he thought about the look on Tim’s face right before he saw Damian through the window at Arkham. He looked utterly miserable, but almost relieved that he might die. He didn’t look frightened. He didn’t look nervous. But when he’d caught Damian’s eye, he looked almost…  _guilty_.    
   
He knew Tim struggled with depression and had ever since his father was killed. (No, he had most certainly  _not_ been reading Drake’s medical file after he was first granted access to the computer. And it’s most certainly  _not_ why he knew he’d be a match to donate blood this evening.)  But he didn’t know Tim had been battling it again. Having seen what he did tonight, though, the signs were there. He’d been isolating himself from everyone lately. His patrols were longer and more aggressive than usual. Damian knew Tim rarely slept well, but he could easily tell Tim wasn’t sleeping much at all.    
   
Tim apparently didn’t think anyone paid close enough attention to notice these things and that made Damian angry. As much as he’d resented Tim at first, he’d come to respect him and even admire him, to a certain extent. (Not that he’d ever in a million  _years_ admit to that.) For someone in their family to believe they didn’t matter? Or to throw themselves into harm’s way on purpose to try and end things?    
   
It was infuriating and painful to think about.   
   
Damian kicked his boots off and studied Tim’s face for a moment. He could tell Tim was barely holding it together, but he was out of his depth here; this was Grayson’s territory. He didn’t know how to ask if what he’d witnessed earlier was a suicide attempt.   
   
“I didn’t realize you had a death wish, Drake.” His voice was quiet and lacking its usual snark. Tim gasped and looked at him, shocked at both the question and the almost sympathetic tone.   
   
“That’s not. I didn’t...”   
   
“Tt. I can see it. I mean, I didn’t necessarily see it until tonight, but I see it now.”    
   
Tim didn’t try to deny it, realizing there was no point in doing so. He’d been caught. A tear slipped from his eye and ran into his hair. Damian leaned forward, keeping his voice quiet.    
   
“I don’t understand what you’re going through, but I want to.” He started fidgeting with the bandage in the crook of his elbow. “Despite our history, despite how you feel about me, if you want my assistance, I’m willing to help.”    
   
There was a sharp inhale and Damian looked up at Tim, who was looking at him with a mixture of confusion, gratefulness and pain. He swallowed several times before he was able to speak.   
   
“I.. I think I’d like that, Damian.”    
   
He turned his right hand over and held it out to Damian, who timidly reached forward and took it in his own. His cheeks flushed pink and he refused to meet Tim’s gaze, but he squeezed Tim’s hand nonetheless.    
   
A few minutes later, Tim was struggling to stay awake. But he needed to know something. He rolled his head to the side, opening his eyes. Damian was still sitting there, watching the screens flashing Tim’s vital signs.    
   
“Hey, Damian?”   
   
“What?”   
   
Tim was looking at him, hiding an amused smile.   
   
“How did you know we had the same blood type?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love comments and/or feedback, so consider this an invitation by yours truly to say something, if you'd like! I love hearing what people think and always welcome your thoughts on what you've read!


	12. You don't owe me anything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I borrowed some of the dialog from ‘A Death in the Family’ and I fudged a few details about the fact Alfred was talking to Bruce the entire time. This takes place in that universe. I like to make myself sad, apparently, and I decided I didn’t want to be alone in that, so.. here you go! 
> 
> Warning: lots of angst, some mention of blood/injury/gore, and a swear word or two.
> 
> Prompt for this chapter: "You don't owe me anything."

Jason didn’t often find himself working from the cave, but as luck would have it Tim wanted some help with a case he’d been working on. So here he sat, perusing the video archives of the Batcomputer on a Wednesday night, researching Bruce’s files while Tim worked through his own intel. The files were from the feed from Bruce’s cowl that he saved for this exact purpose.   
   
Two hours in, Tim yawned and said he was going to go help Alfred finish making dinner. Jason hummed a reply and continued going through the files Tim flagged for research, but he needed a break from watching them. As fascinating as it was to see things from Batman’s perspective at first, it got old quickly and everything began to blur together.

He leaned back in his chair and stretched, groaning when long-inactive joints popped loudly. He drained the last of his now-cold cup of coffee and settled back in, ready to go through the next batch of files. He backtracked and went to open the next archive.   
   
The naming convention for each archive was straight forward and he scanned the massive directory; Bruce’s archives had footage going back for  _years_. He opened the next archive on his list, one for several years prior. As he scanned through the files, one caught his attention. It was a large file and based on the date it was uploaded to the archive, it was an old one. His eyes widened as he re-read the file name.   
   
It was cataloged as  _27-Apr-Joker/Ethiopia_.   
   
It was the footage from the night he died.   
   
No way Bruce would have kept that... would he?   
   
Jason hesitated, his index finger hovering over the button on the mouse, his eyes glued to the monitor. He didn’t really want to see it. And he knew he shouldn’t watch it because whatever recovery he’s managed since he came back, this could potentially set him back  _years_. But he was morbidly curious. And since Bruce was out on patrol, Tim was still upstairs and Damian was at Dick’s for the weekend with an injured shoulder, he had a chance he might never get again.   
   
How did Bruce react that night? What really happened? He’d never been able to ask Bruce about it and Alfred never gave him more than the barest of answers. He glanced behind him, checking to make sure he was still alone, then he turned the volume down to a level he could still hear, and double-clicked the file.   
     
The footage began with Batman speeding toward the warehouse on his motorcycle. The whine of the engine was loud, as was the sound of the wind rushing past his face. Jason watched as Batman roared up the hill toward the warehouse, knowing it was seconds away from exploding.

He paused the video and leaned back in his chair, shutting his eyes. He could still close the file. He could still  _not_ watch this. He could pretend he never saw these files and go back to the case Tim had him helping with.   
   
But then he heard the Joker’s voice in his head, crystal clear.   
   
 _“That last one looked like it_   ** _really_** _hurt, kiddo. Do you want me to give it a rest for a little while?”_    
   
 _Jason looked up at him from his spot on the floor and he winced as he rolled onto his side. His one eye was completely swollen shut and he felt a loose tooth with his tongue. He spit a mouthful of blood to the floor, adding to the puddle that was already there._    
   
 _“Screw you, clown. Batman will beat you to a pulp when he gets here.” His broken jaw throbbed as he spoke, but it was the least of his worries. He could feel broken ribs grating against each other. One of them had likely punctured a lung already._    
   
 _The Joker tapped the crowbar against a gloved palm that was now stained crimson with blood. There were bits of fabric caught on the rough metal. He plucked the fabric from the end and flicked it off his fingertip, wrinkling his nose in fake disgust._    
   
 _“Oh, kiddo. He won’t make it here in time to save you. This party is officially over.”_    
   
 _He nodded in the direction of Sheila. She was barely conscious halfway across the room. He pulled a small remote from his vest pocket and held it up for Jason to see. He waved it around a moment before hitting the single red button in the center of the device. A loud 'beep’ echoed from somewhere behind Sheila and Jason saw a bright red timer start a countdown._    
   
 _“See you on the other side, Robin. If Bats does somehow get here early, tell him I said hello.”_    
   
Jason shook his head to clear the memory and inhaled slowly and deeply. He needed to know what happened after that. He needed to see it for himself. Before he could talk himself out of it, he clicked 'play’ again.   
   
“Alfred. What can you tell me about that warehouse?”   
   
“It’s empty, sir. It hasn’t been operational in five years. The company that owned it went bankrupt.”   
   
The cowl looked down at the speedometer on the bike. Bruce was pushing one-sixty with no sign of slowing down. He looked up at the top of the hill.   
   
“Damn it. I can’t make it go any faster!”   
   
“Master Bruce, you’ll get there in time. Just focus.”   
   
“Alfred, he’s in there.. what if…”   
   
“No what-if’s, young man. Just get up that hill and get to your son.”   
   
Jason shivered and folded his arms over his chest, the air around him carrying a chill that hadn’t been there earlier. He’d never heard Bruce use that tone. It was unnerving to hear him so genuinely worried. He looked behind him to the top of the stairs and saw no one, so he continued watching. The data feed from the cowl up in the corner of the screen said he was six hundred meters and closing.   
   
Five hundred meters.   
   
Four hundred.   
   
Thee hundred.   
   
Jason’s breath hitched in his throat as Batman closed the distance to the warehouse. By his estimation, the timer on the bomb was down to less than twenty seconds by that point and he’d been crawling over to Sheila, trying to reassure her they would be alright.   
   
Two hundred meters.   
   
One hundred.   
   
Fifty meters.

At twenty-five meters, Batman launched himself from the bike toward the warehouse, the snap of his cape opening crackling sharply over the audio feed.   
     
“ROBIN!”   
   
The moment his boots hit the ground there was a flash of light and a deafening roar. The video feed went white and the audio cut out for three or four seconds. Jason flinched at the sound and swallowed hard, watching as Batman was blown backward by the blast wave and rolled to a stop. He didn’t move for almost ten seconds. The video feed wobbled as he stood up.   
   
“JASON!”   
   
He stumbled forward and threw himself into the wreckage, heaving splintered wood and broken concrete blocks out of the way. The footage was shaky until Batman calmed down enough to focus.   
   
“Jason! Can you hear me? Where are you?”   
   
Jason looked away from the screen the moment Batman saw an arm come into view, waving weakly to catch Batman’s attention. But it wasn’t his arm.   
   
He closed his eyes, refusing to open them again when he heard her voice. He felt bile rise in his throat and he fought the urge to be sick.   
   
“Help… me…”   
   
“Sheila!”   
   
He could hear Batman clearing more debris as he tried to keep her calm.   
   
“Sheila, it’s okay. I’ll get you out. Where’s Jason?”   
   
Jason cringed as he heard her try to speak before a thick, wet cough forced her to stop.   
   
“He’s much... better… than I... deserve.”   
   
Jason opened his eyes, inhaling sharply at the sight of her. His mother. She had massive contusions to her face but could still open both eyes. She was focused on Batman as he tried to dig her out of the rubble.   
   
“Where’s Jason? Sheila? Where was Jason when this happened?” Batman’s voice was noticeably calmer than earlier, but Jason could still hear the panic plain as day now that he recognized it.   
   
“He… he threw... himself… in front of me,” she wheezed, her head rolling forward as she struggled to stay conscious. “He took... the main brunt… of the blast.”   
   
Sheila stopped moving and Batman leaned down to check her vitals, the cowl shifting as he tilted his head to the side to listen for breath sounds.   
   
Jason moved to the edge of the chair and covered his mouth with both hands when he saw it. In the near distance there was a tattered yellow cape and a head of black hair visible in the rubble.   
   
“Oh my god…” His voice was only a whisper, yet it sounded so loud in the solitary confines of the cave.   
   
Batman hadn’t seen him yet, which was confirmed when he turned to look at Sheila again instead of moving toward what Jason had just seen. He watched as Batman closed her eyes and stood up, frantically looking around for a place to start searching.   
   
“JASON!” he screamed. “Jason! Can you hear me?” The full-fledged panic in his voice was back.   
   
Jason felt dizzy as he watched as the camera shifted quickly. He jumped when Alfred’s voice merged again with the audio feed. The blast wave must have temporarily knocked out the communication between the cowl and the feed to the cave.   
   
“Master Bruce? What happened? Are you alright? Where’s Jason?”   
   
Bruce didn’t answer and he didn’t have to. Jason watched, horrified, as Batman stumbled through the wreckage toward what Jason had seen earlier. His breath started coming in ragged gasps, his chest heaving with panic as he witnessed what Batman saw next.   
   
“Jason?! JASON!”   
   
Batman was on his hands and knees now, ripping through the rubble and trying to get to Robin.   
   
“No... no no nonono….”   
   
Jason stood in front of the console now, tears stinging his eyes. He still had a hand over his mouth, trying to keep himself quiet.   
   
Batman cleared away enough debris and he’d ripped his gloves off, carefully taking Robin’s bruised and battered face in his hands.   
   
“J..Jason? Jason? Please... please wake up.”   
   
Batman was straight up  _pleading_  now and it freaked Jason out to no end. He watched Batman check his head, neck and torso for injuries, but it was clear to Jason there was nothing Batman could have done to save him. From what he could remember about the injuries Joker inflicted during the beating, they were likely fatal to begin with so even if he’d survived the blast, he never would have made it to a hospital. He’d never held Bruce responsible for not saving him but seeing this somehow made him feel better. Like he’d needed proof there was nothing more Bruce could have done.   
   
On the screen, Batman knelt next to Robin and pulled him into his lap. Neither Batman nor Robin were on screen after that; the camera angle from the cowl was focused on the mountains in the distance, the footage rocking back and forth like they were on a boat.   
   
“Jason... no. I…you can’t...”   
   
The tears Jason was trying really hard not to shed were trailing freely down his cheeks now. He’d crossed his arms to smother the sobs he could feel deep in his chest as he listened to Batman break down. Alfred’s voice came through again, painfully soft and quiet.   
   
“Master Bruce? You need to get the two of you out of there. I see local EMS has been dispatched to your location.”   
   
Batman shook his head, looking down again. Robin was still cradled in his lap and he was tucking the battered remains of his cape around his body. Batman no longer tried to disguise his voice when he acknowledged Alfred.   
   
“I... I can’t. I can’t move him, Alfred. He’s hurt.”   
   
Jason heard Alfred sniffle and take a moment to compose himself. 

“He’s gone, sir. There’s nothing you can do for him now except to bring him home. Bring him back to me and we’ll take care of him. But you have to move."     
   
Batman shifted Robin and picked him up, glancing down at his face. There was so much blood.   
   
"I’m so sorry, Jason. I…”   
   
Before the footage could continue, Jason closed the file and collapsed onto the chair. His shoulders began to shake as he sobbed, leaning forward against the console and burying his face in his arms.   
   
He knew some of the details of what happened that day, most of what he knew was from someone else’s account of how Bruce dealt with what happened. But neither Bruce nor Alfred had ever really spoken much about the specifics, even when Jason asked. He hadn’t known this footage existed until now, but as surprised as he was at what he’d just seen, he also wasn’t surprised Bruce had it recorded.   
   
He heard the rumble of the Batmobile entering the cave a few minutes later, and by then he was sitting back in the chair, slouched and staring at the computer keyboard. The rustle of a cape made him focus and he blinked, his eyes red and swollen.   
   
“Jason?”   
   
Bruce approached carefully; Jason heard his footsteps lighten and his pace slowed considerably. But he was too numb to move, too stunned to process anything other than that.   
   
“Jason? Are you alright?”   
   
He slowly turned toward Bruce, his gaze rising to meet Bruce’s. He paled noticeably before looking back at the monitor and shaking his head.   
   
Bruce pushed the cowl back and knelt in front of him, a large, gloved hand gripping his bicep gently. He studied Jason’s face, trying to find something that would tell him what was wrong. When Jason didn’t look at him, he turned and looked up at the monitor. He winced when he saw which file had been accessed and he spun the chair until Jason was facing him, away from the computer, and put a hand on each arm rest.   
   
“Jason? Look at me. Did you watch that footage?”   
   
Jason nodded, swallowing hard.   
   
“Yeah.”

Bruce sighed and closed his eyes.   
   
“I wish you wouldn’t have." 

 _Me too,_  Jason thought.   
   
Bruce let go of the chair long enough to take off his gloves and gauntlets. Jason looked at him, frowning.   
   
"Why not? It’s my death.”   
   
Bruce’s shoulders sagged and he shook his head, reaching one hand to Jason’s forearm and squeezing gently. Jason stared at his hand. The fingers on his other hand twitched toward Bruce, but instead they gripped the arm rest.   
   
“No one should have to see their death, especially not yours.”   
   
“Why would you keep it, after all this time?”   
   
Bruce was quiet for a moment, trying to come up with an answer that wouldn’t start yet another argument. He settled with the simple answer.   
   
“It’s a reminder.”

Jason visibly deflated, their previous arguments reminding him he was just a lesson to Bruce. A cautionary tale for those who came after him.   
   
“Oh, so you show it to the new Robin recruits, so they don’t fuck up like I did?”   
   
Bruce shook his head again and grabbed Jason’s hands, waiting until he looked at him before he replied.   
   
“What happened to you wasn’t your fault, Jason. Do you understand that?” Jason tried to pull away, but Bruce held firm. “I need you to understand that. Your death was  _not your fault_. And I’m sorry you ever felt like it was.”   
   
Jason jerked his arms away from Bruce and wheeled the chair back before standing up. He was furious, but thoroughly confused as well. He turned from Bruce and raked his shaking hands through his hair. His chest heaved with anger and he inhaled and counted to five before he let the breath back out. When he was calm enough to speak, he spun on his heel and stepped closer, pushing Bruce back a few steps.   
   
“What? What the  _hell_ is that supposed to mean?” He was shouting now, but he didn’t care. “What was all that talk about me being your greatest failure, then, huh? That was all I ever was to you!”   
   
Bruce stood and scrubbed a hand over his face, willing himself to stay calm. He took a cautious step forward.   
   
“You’ve never failed me, Jason. Despite everything we’ve been through, how we’ve fought since you came back, you’ve  _never_ failed me. I never should have phrased it that way.”   
   
Jason shook his head, tears threatening again. He held a hand out in front of him, trying to keep Bruce back. If he let Bruce hug him now, he’d completely fall apart.   
   
“No. After all the things I’ve done. The things I did to you. To Dick. To Tim and  _Damian_ …god...” he trailed off, staring at the floor. “After what I’ve done to this family, how can I not be a failure, Bruce?”   
   
Bruce gestured to the monitor. “What you saw up there was my failure.” He tapped his chest, his fingers against the bat symbol. “ _I’m_  the one who failed  _you_ , Jason. I need you to understand that. I’m the one who couldn’t protect you.”   
    
“You don’t owe me anything, Bruce. I don’t deserve...”   
   
Bruce didn’t wait for Jason to finish. He stepped forward, taking Jason’s face in his hands. He studied him for a moment, waiting for Jason to look at him. Jason’s apprehension was met with a teary-eyed smile before Bruce hugged him, squeezing as tightly as Jason needed, until he understood.   
   
“Yes, you do. You’re my  **son**.”


	13. You coward!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because I'm powerless against my angst muse, here's a follow-up of sorts to the previous prompt. It's a doozy, clocking in at almost 6500 words. This follows the Batman, Inc Vol 2 story line, so if you've read that you have an idea what's coming. I used some of the dialog, too. 
> 
> Warning: There's mention of blood and Damian's demise. It's nothing super graphic, but still. And you'll also find a metric ton of angst.
> 
> The prompt for this chapter was "You coward." 
> 
> As always, I own nothing.

Damian sat in the study, watching a deer slowly make its way across the manor grounds. She didn’t appear to notice the rain and instead wove between the flower beds and shrubbery on her way back to the cover of the woods at the back of the property. His sketch pad, with the half-sketched doe on the front page, lay abandoned on the couch next to him. Alfred was stretched out along the back of the couch, purring as Damian rubbed his belly. He heard Jason coming before he tapped his knuckles on the door frame.   
   
“You rang?”   
   
Damian rolled his eyes but said nothing. He turned and looked at Jason, who was still in the doorway leaning against the frame. His hands were shoved in the pockets of a black leather jacket still coated in rain drops. He made no move to enter the room.

“You don’t need an invitation to come in here, you know.”

“I’m still trying to figure out why I’m here,” Jason said, shrugging out of his jacket and hanging it over the back of a chair. He took a seat on the opposite end of the couch, slinging an arm over the back and turning to face Damian. Alfred opened his eyes and stretched lazily before getting up and walking over to Jason. He rubbed his cheek against Jason’s hand before crawling into his lap. Jason sighed and shook his head, already noticing the white hair stuck to the navy fabric. He focused on Damian, who was watching with slight annoyance at seeing his cat so easily find another source of attention.

“Everything okay?”   
   
Damian turned and looked out the window again. The doe was gone. He turned so he faced Jason, leaning forward to close his sketch book. He studied Jason closely, noting the dark circles under his eyes and the weariness he carried in his shoulders.   
   
“I should be asking you that.”   
   
Jason tried his hardest not to sigh in irritation, instead feigning ignorance.   
   
“And why would that be?”   
   
Damian gave him a look that told Jason he saw right through the attempt.   
   
“All everyone around here has been whispering about is you watching the footage of your death three nights ago.” He drew his legs toward him and crossed them beneath him. “It’s getting a little ridiculous.”   
   
As if he sensed an argument coming, Alfred chose that moment to crawl out of Jason’s lap and saunter from the room. Jason brushed the hair from his sweater, stalling long enough so he wouldn’t snap at Damian. He had a good idea as to why Damian sent him the text demanding that he come over, but damn it if he wasn’t going to make the kid spell it out for him anyway.   
   
“And I’m supposed to do what about that, exactly?”   
   
Damian looked out the window again. The rain picked up and there was a rumble of thunder in the distance. He could feel Jason watching him, but there was no tension or anger in his gaze. He could sense Jason’s apprehension of whatever Damian was going to ask him. He felt guilty for being about to cause him any discomfort, so he refused to look at Jason when he spoke. He didn’t want to lose his nerve.   
   
“Why did you watch that footage?”   
   
Jason’s mouth opened as if he had an answer ready, but nothing came out. He paused and looked down at the couch between them, thinking of a way to answer that question when he himself didn’t really have one, apart from ‘it seemed like a good idea at the time’.   
   
“I don’t know. I found it while helping Tim research. It’s not like I went looking for it. I didn’t know it even existed.”

Damian watched Jason run his hand through his hair- a nervous tic he had. It was still damp from the rain and stood up in several directions, the tuft of white prominent against the inky black next to it. Jason leaned his head against his hand, studying Damian.

“And before you ask, I don’t regret it. I mean, not really.”   
   
“Was it difficult to watch?”   
   
Jason nodded.   
   
“Oh yeah.”   
   
Damian looked at him, noticing how tired Jason looked. Jason rarely tried to hide how he felt when he was around Damian for some reason, only doing so in front of Father or Grayson. But Damian could see it in his body language and in the lines around his eyes, the dark circles he noticed earlier. Grayson looked like that after his nightmares about Damian’s death, the nights he came into Damian’s room and crawled into bed with him.   
   
“More so than you’d like us to believe, I assume.”   
   
Jason glared at him, but there was no anger behind it, only snark at such an obvious assumption.   
   
“What can I say? It’s not fun watching what was one of the worst moments of Bruce’s life. And seeing a dead version yourself isn’t a cakewalk, either.”   
   
Damian swallowed and pulled a pillow into his lap, playing with the trim.   
   
“Was it what you thought it would be? Did it accomplish anything for you?”   
   
There it was- the reason Damian told him to come over. He was wondering about Jason’s experience because he was thinking about watching his own footage.   
   
“In a way, I suppose it helped me accept there was nothing Bruce could have done for me when he found me. But I never held that against him in the first place. That was never my problem with what happened. I forgave him for that as soon as I was with it enough to be able to. But it wasn’t at all what I expected it to be because there’s no way anyone can prepare for that.”   
   
Damian considered Jason’s answer, once again looking out the window. He didn’t speak for a few minutes and Jason didn’t push.   
   
“Look, Damian. I can see the wheels turning in your head, and I understand why you’re curious. But I don’t want you entertaining the notion that you’re gonna go watch what happened the night you died. I don’t think it’s a good idea.”   
   
“I appreciate your honesty.”

“But you don’t like my answer.”

His green eyes narrowed momentarily before they rolled toward the ceiling.

“I disagree with it. There’s a difference.”

“Touche.” Jason leaned forward, resting his hand on the couch next to Damian’s foot. Close to him, but not touching him. Damian turned and stared at Jason’s hand before making eye contact.

“You don’t want to see what happened to you, and I don’t think you really want to hear what Bruce heard. Trust me on that.”   
   
Damian didn’t answer, nodding once. Jason poked his foot before standing and retrieving his jacket from the chair.   
   
“I’m around if you ever want to talk, okay?”   
   
Damian only nodded again and continued staring out the window.   
   
Jason immediately went downstairs, hoping to find someone in the cave. He was fortunate enough to not only find Bruce, but Tim and Dick as well.   
   
“You guys have a situation on your hands.”   
   
Bruce turned first, acknowledging Jason with a raised eyebrow. Tim and Dick both turned at the same time. They were huddled around old maps of some kind. Dick smiled.   
   
“Jason, hey. What are you doing here?”   
   
The three of them ignored what they were working on and watched Jason as he approached the table. He tossed his jacket on a nearby chair and crossed his arms over his chest.   
   
“I got a text from the kid demanding my presence at once.”   
   
Dick looked at Bruce, whose expression was suddenly and suspiciously blank. Jason noticed immediately.   
   
“Yeah, he had some questions.”   
   
Tim looked between the two of them, his eyes widening.   
   
“He’s not planning to watch it, is he?”   
   
Jason gave him an irritated look.   
   
“What do  _you_ think, Tim? Now that he knows I’ve seen mine, thanks to whoever told him about it, of course he wants to see his.”   
   
“The only people who know are you, Bruce, Alfred and me. I never said anything to him about it. He must have overheard me when I was talking to Barbara later about deleting your file, but I never mentioned why.”   
   
Bruce glared at Tim at his admission he was going to delete files without Bruce’s knowledge. Dick looked at the three of them, clearly confused and frustrated with being left out.   
   
“Can someone tell me what the hell is going on?”   
   
When Bruce and Tim didn’t make a move to answer, Jason did.   
   
“Did you know that Bruce records the feeds from his cowl every night?”   
   
Dick frowned at such an obvious question.   
   
“Yeah. We all know the cowl has a camera. Our masks have them and I bet your helmet has one, too.” Dick shrugged. “So?”   
   
Jason looked at Bruce, who gave him an imperceptible shake of his head.   
   
 _Don’t_ , it warned. Jason was in the mood to push buttons, so he continued.   
   
“Do you also know he never deletes anything, no matter how awful the footage might be?”   
   
Bruce and Tim both sighed, with Tim closing his eyes, readying himself for Dick’s inevitable outburst. It didn’t take Dick long to answer Jason’s question. He turned and faced Bruce, his hands in fists at his sides.   
   
“You kept the footage from the night of Jason’s death? What the hell were you thinking, Bruce? Why would you do that?” He then turned to Jason, some of his anger dissipating, but not much. “And why on  **earth** would you want to watch it?”   
   
He circled the table and before Jason could deflect it, Dick wrapped his arms around him.   
   
“Are you okay?”   
   
Jason sighed and clapped his hand against Dick’s upper back, trying to end the hug.   
   
“Yeah. So you can imagine why I’m concerned that Damian is asking me what it was like.”   
   
He felt Dick’s posture go rigid as he backed away. He slowly turned toward Bruce.   
   
“Please tell me you don’t still have the files from that night. Bruce, please.”   
   
Again, Bruce said nothing. Tim was already over at the computer, messaging Oracle about deleting the file.   
   
“I’m already on it, Dick. We’ll have it permanently deleted shortly.”   
   
Dick was standing in front of Bruce clearly still angry, but he was calmer. He reached up and put a hand on Bruce’s shoulder.   
   
“I know how you like to punish yourself, but this is harsh, even by your standards.”   
   
Bruce covered Dick’s hand with his own, before removing it and turning to watch Tim work. Dick just sighed and leaned against the table across from Jason.   
   
“Bruce, what if Damian had come across that file while he was on his own? Like I did? I was lucky you came back when you did. I’m a grown man and looked what it did to me.” Dick snorted and rolled his eyes but said nothing as Jason continued. “Imagine what that could have done to him.”   
   
“You act as though I hadn’t prepared for that already,” Bruce said quietly, just as Tim spun in the chair.   
   
“We can’t access the file, B. It’s encrypted. Why not just delete it?”   
   
Before Bruce could answer, Jason was standing next to him, their shoulders touching.   
   
“Because it’s motivation,” Jason said. “In case we ever need reminding about what we could lose.”   
   
Bruce glanced sideways at Jason, sadness and relief in his eyes. Jason looked at him and nodded once in return, finally understanding why Bruce would keep things like that footage around, even if he disagreed with it.   
   
“Work with Oracle to make sure no one can hack into that file, Tim. I trust that it will be completely secure when you’re finished.”   
   
Tim nodded and went back to typing as Bruce disappeared upstairs, Dick right behind him. Jason shrugged into his jacket and said goodnight to Tim before he left.   
   
 _This damn family._

* * *

A few days later, Tim noticed something odd. Damian was being unusually kind. At first, it was subtle- letting him use the second-best shower in the manor first (the best one being in Bruce’s en suite bathroom), or the noticeable lack of insults over their comms while out on patrol. Then it escalated to Damian bringing him coffee (just the way he liked it, no less) when he stopped by WE to visit Bruce, or having a five-star restaurant deliver a meal to his apartment while he’d been working non-stop on both the annual WE budget and a new case.

When Damian offered to let him walk Titus, something Damian  **never** let anyone do unless he was incapacitated, Tim realized he was up to something. They were in the kitchen after patrol, waiting while their food heated in the microwave, when Tim could no longer resist.

“What do you want, Damian?”   
   
Damian looked up from his book and frowned. His own meal was plated next to him, waiting until Tim was finished with the microwave.   
   
“What?”   
   
Tim narrowed his eyes.   
   
“I know what you’re doing, I just don’t know  _why_. What do you want?”   
   
Damian looked down at his book, finishing a paragraph before marking the page with a piece of ribbon. When his eyes finally met Tim’s, Tim was surprised to see him nervous.   
   
“I’m aware you helped Oracle strengthen the encryption of the file from Father’s cowl that night.”   
   
The microwave beeped, the sound unusually loud. Tim made no move to open it.   
   
“Yes, at Bruce’s request.”   
   
Damian looked down at the table and nodded. He’d suspected as much, which was why he hadn’t bothered to try and access it himself. He could hold his own with hacking, but not where Tim and Oracle were concerned.   
   
“But you’re still able to access it, correct?”   
   
Tim leaned a hip against the counter. Damian had tenacity, he’d give him that much.   
   
“You’re set on watching that footage, aren’t you?”   
   
Damian looked at him from the corner of his eye.   
   
“Yes. But I don’t expect any of you to understand why.”   
   
Tim shivered as he recalled what he saw that night. Damian fighting with arrows in his back, calling out to Talia to stop everything. How he’d cried out for Bruce. Tim turned back to the microwave and leaned his hands on the counter, hanging his head. Damian was right; why he would want to re-live that was beyond Tim.   
   
“I have questions and I know Father won’t answer them. You won’t, either, and Todd wasn’t there. And I can’t ask Grayson again.”   
   
Tim turned back to Damian. Dick was usually the most honest with Damian, but the fact Dick wouldn’t talk about this with him wasn’t that surprising.   
   
“Why not?”   
   
The microwave beeped again and both of them ignored it.   
   
“Because it would hurt him too much,” Damian said quietly. “Whenever I ask about it, he changes the subject, but I can see how much it hurts him even though he tries to hide it.”   
   
Tim took his plate out of the microwave and set it on the table, holding a hand out for Damian’s. Damian handed it to Tim without a word and Tim put it in to warm. He sat down across from Damian and waited until he looked up to speak.   
   
“Damian, you have to understand how terrible that night was for all of us, but especially Bruce and Dick. We aren’t trying to keep it from you or shelter you, but at the same time, seeing yourself after you die isn’t something you want to see.”   
   
Damian drew his hands back from the table and put them in his lap. Tim knew he’d made them both into fists in an effort to stay calm.   
   
“I’m not interested in seeing myself dead, Drake, nor am I interested in seeing any of you mourn for me. It’s pathetic that you think that’s what I want.” He picked up his book before standing and glaring at Tim. “Clearly you won’t be of any assistance.”   
   
He turned and left as the microwave beeped, speaking back over his shoulder as he disappeared.   
   
“I’m no longer hungry.”   
   
Tim sighed and looked down at his plate.   
   
 _Me neither._

* * *

It was nearly a week before Damian contacted Jason again. The second time, Damian went to him. Damian was waiting in the dark when Jason came home at three a.m. after a slow night. Jason entered his current safe house and locked the door before turning a light on. Damian sat on the sofa, legs crossed and hands in his lap. Jason startled and backed against the wall, nearly dropping his helmet.   
  
“Damn it, kid. Don’t  _do_ that!”   
   
Damian smirked ever so slightly.   
   
“If you’re startled that easily, Todd, you have problems.”   
   
Jason only shook his head, removing the heaviest of his gear and stowing it in a closet. He locked his guns in the safe and kicked his boots off before collapsing noisily in a chair across from Damian.   
   
“Everything okay?”   
   
Damian stared at his hands, biting his bottom lip. He shrugged, one shoulder slowly rising toward his ear.   
   
“No one is injured, if that’s what you’re asking.”   
   
“Alright, that’s good, but that’s not what I asked.” He waited until Damian looked up at him before he asked again. “Is everything okay?”   
   
Damian sighed, frowning.   
   
“It’s bad enough they all walk on eggshells when the subject of my death comes up, but when I have questions about it, no one will actually answer them. They don’t listen.”   
   
Jason rose and sat down next to Damian, tucking a leg beneath him.   
   
“This is about the cowl footage, isn’t it?”   
   
Damian nodded.   
   
“I tried to get Drake to help me, but he said the same thing everyone else has. I was nice to him for nothing.”   
   
Jason stifled a laugh.   
   
“I bet he was confused as hell.” Damian looked up at him, a tiny smirk appearing at the corner of his mouth. Jason grinned, before poking Damian’s knee. 

“Can I ask you something? Why is it so important to you? What do you want to get out of watching something so... painful?”   
   
He could tell no one had asked Damian that question yet. He was silent a few minutes before he spoke again and when he did, his voice lacked its usual formal tone. He sounded more like the child he should be.   
   
“Did you remember anything that happened right before your death? I mean before you saw what my Father saw that night.”   
   
“I remembered some, yes, or at least I  _thought_ I remembered. What I think happened to me, what the Joker  _said_ he did to me, and what  _actually_ happened are probably three different things.” He inhaled slowly and deeply, willing himself to stay calm and not panic in front of the kid. That treasure chest of memories was easy to open, but so hard to close.

“But once I saw what happened immediately after I died, the stuff that happened right before didn’t carry the same weight as it used to.”   
   
Damian didn’t look at him, continuing to stare at his hands. When he finally did respond, he was cautious. Almost hesitant.   
   
“So in watching it, you were able to find some sort of closure. You were able to let some of your pain go.”   
   
Jason leaned back against the arm of the couch and shrugged.   
   
“I guess so, yeah. There are some things I’ll always struggle with, some things I’ll always disagree with Bruce about, but overall, you could say it helped in some strange and morbid way.” He nudged Damian with his foot.   
   
“So what do you hope to gain from seeing yours?”   
   
“I…” he trailed off and sighed. “That...  _thing_ my mother created went after Grayson and I tried to stop it. I think I remember trying to save him and I need to know if I succeeded.”   
   
Jason frowned.   
   
“Damian, Dick survived that night. I wasn’t there, but I can tell you he made it.”   
   
“And yet, when I came back, we all believed him to be dead.” Damian’s eyes were full of unshed tears at that point and he was trying very hard to keep them that way. “I need to see if my death prevented his. And no one will grant me that request, despite all of them having that capability.”   
   
Jason rubbed the back of his neck, his mind reeling. It all made sense now. The kid wanted to see if he’d failed at being Robin, if he’d failed at protecting Batman, whether it be Dick or Bruce. He didn’t need or want the validation that his family cared about him like Jason had; Damian knew how they all felt. He needed to see that by dying, someone else survived. Jason leaned forward and gently put his hand on Damian’s shoulder.   
   
“I’ll see what I can do, short stack, but I can’t make any promises.”

* * *

Two nights later, Jason arrived at the manor at seven o'clock, per Tim's instructions. Bruce and Alfred were attending a fundraiser for Gotham Memorial Hospital’s new maternity wing. They would be occupied until after Bruce’s speech, which wasn’t on the evening’s itinerary until eight-thirty, provided the mayor wrapped up his speech on time. Damian greeted him at the door.

"Hey, squirt.”   
   
Damian rolled his eyes.   
   
“Tt. Drake said he’s almost ready.”   
   
Jason glanced around, nervous as hell they were going to get caught. But it was better to ask for forgiveness than permission in this case.   
   
“You guys sure Bruce and Alfred won’t be back for a while?”   
   
“We’ve arranged for some technical difficulties in the event the mayor finishes his speech early. And since Father is the keynote speaker, he can’t get out of it.”   
   
“And what if they need Batman?”   
   
“They get Red Robin,” Tim said, meeting them at the bottom of the stairs. “I’ve been working with Oracle tonight and so far, things are quiet. But as soon as you two are set up, I’m headed out on patrol to keep it that way.” He gestured to the second floor. “Come on, it’s set up in the study.”   
   
They entered Bruce’s study and were met with a fire glowing in the fireplace and Tim’s laptop set up on the desk. It was connected to the flat screen mounted above the fireplace and the couch was moved so it sat directly in front. There was a lamp on in the corner, casting a soft glow through the room where the light from the fire couldn’t reach. Damian sat down in the middle of the couch and said nothing. Tim glanced at Jason, uncertainty in his eyes. Jason merely shrugged.   
   
“I’ve remotely accessed the cave’s computer from my laptop and found a workaround for Oracle’s encryption. The file is open and all you have to do is click the file name.” He waited until Jason had looked at the laptop before he turned to leave. “If Oracle knows you’re watching it, she won’t stop you, Jason. I asked her not to after our conversation yesterday.”   
   
“Thanks, Timbers.”   
   
Tim left and closed the door. Jason clicked the file name and it opened. He paused it immediately and went around to kneel in front of Damian.   
   
“If at any point you want to stop, just say so or squeeze my hand, okay?”   
   
“I’ll be fine, Todd,” Damian huffed, but Jason could easily see the kid was nervous.   
   
“Well, just in case you’re not, say so.”   
   
Jason leaned over and clicked play before taking a seat next to Damian. The footage began in complete darkness. Jason leaned over to check that the video was playing when Talia’s voice came through the speakers. Damian tensed momentarily before settling back against the couch.   
   
 _“My detective.”_    
   
They could hear Bruce moving around. Jason frowned.   
   
“Where was he?”   
   
“My mother had him,” Damian said quietly. He tensed at the sound of Talia’s voice again.   
   
 _“My dear, sweet, doomed detective. Really?_ ** _This_** _is how I get your attention?”_    
   
At that point, other sounds began filtering into the audio feed. Damian heard the sounds of the fight from the lobby along with what his Father was experiencing. His breathing hitched as heard the fighters loyal to Leviathan yelling about formations.   
   
“He still listens to everybody, doesn’t he?” Jason murmured. Damian nodded.   
   
 _“Boy’s own adventure. Playing commando. Playing dress-up and fight. No responsibilities. No ambition. A man who_ ** _might_** _have ruled the world.”_    
   
“I’m not your father, Talia!” Bruce hollered angrily, startling both of them. The screen was still black; wherever Bruce was, he hadn’t escaped yet.   
   
Damian heard Tim arrive next, helping a woman get to safety. There was more chaos, more fighting. He didn’t try to fight the smirk on his lips at the sound of shattering glass and yelling echoing through the lobby.   
   
 _“God help us all! GET HIM!”_    
   
Jason gently elbowed Damian.   
   
“Was that you?”   
   
Damian nodded, continuing to stare at the blank screen. He paled when they both heard Dick’s voice ring out. His heart rate spiked before calming once he heard the amusement in Dick’s startled outburst.   
   
 _“You’re supposed to be home! He’ll_ ** _kill_** _Alfie for letting you loose.”_    
   
Jason watched Damian from the corner of his eye. Damian was looking down at the floor, the muscles along his jaw clenching. Jason put his hand next to Damian on the couch, making it easier for Damian to grab it if he wanted to stop. Damian looked up at the still-blank screen when he heard his own voice.   
   
 _“This is our last chance to prevent a catastrophe. Are you with me? The odds are completely against us.”_    
   
Jason’s chest tightened when they heard Dick reply.   
   
 _“When did_ ** _we_** _ever let something like_ ** _that_** _get in the way? Robin, The Boy Wonder, Damian.”_    
   
 _“So far, I’d say you’ve been my favorite partner. We were the best, Richard. No matter what anyone thinks.”_    
   
Damian felt his ears and cheeks flush, and he hoped Jason would think it was because of the fire in the fire place. Jason noticed, though, even in the dim light. Damian clearly adored Dick, despite any of his attempts to say otherwise. But Jason would never tease him about it. He knew what it was like, having Dick to look up to. Damian was still watching the screen even though it was dark, anxiously waiting for the video feed to come on.   
   
There was an explosion somewhere and the audio feed filled with static for several seconds. They could hear Bruce’s controlled breathing as he worked to free himself from wherever Talia had secured him. There were muffled sounds from what Jason guessed were Dick and Damian. He continued watching Damian from the corner of his eye, seeing him tense and look down into the fire.

 _“Robin. Get out of here. NOW.”_    
   
Jason’s eyes widened at the tone of Dick’s voice and Damian winced, slamming his eyes shut. It was the one reserved for only the serious situations. Things like grave injuries, civilian casualties during an op, or when shit hit the fan. Damian’s fingers gripped the edge of the couch cushion tightly when he heard his own voice again after a pained cry from Dick.   
   
 _“Leave him alone! Look at_ ** _me_** _!”_    
   
There was a crash nearby and Dick’s voice went silent.   
   
 _“Look at_ ** _me_** _. Touch him again, I’ll kill you.”_    
   
Jason’s heart raced as he listened, having only seen some surveillance photographs of this Heretic creature. As he imagined this  _thing_ standing over Robin, he felt himself getting angry. But the pride he felt at Damian standing up to it swelled along with his anger. Damian looked over at Jason, the anger in his eyes beginning to give way to his fear of what was coming. A deep voice, rough like broken concrete, came through next. Damian’s eyes went wide.   
   
 _“_ ** _Now_** _you will know me.”_    
   
They listened as he fought the Heretic, Robin repeatedly demanding that he give up and asking Talia to call him off.   
   
 _“BREAK!”_  the Heretic screamed.   
   
“ _No._ ** _Die_** _. Cowards!”_  

Robin’s voice was noticeably weaker at this point. Damian sat in silence, once again staring into the fire, barely blinking. Jason had begun to regret agreeing to this, but not enough to stop it just yet.   
   
“You okay?”   
   
Damian began to nod, but his eyes were drawn to the flat screen as the video feed began. They watched as Batman surfaced and crawled out of a pool. Robin’s voice came through again, tired this time. Beaten, but not broken.   
   
 _“Vall him off at once, Mother.”_    
   
Batman was fighting his way through Talia’s bat creatures all the while Talia was in his ear. Jason could feel an anger he thought he’d conquered, thick and Lazarus-green, bubbling in his chest as he listened to her taunt Bruce about their son.   
   
 _“Our son was a_ ** _flawed_** _creation. Born from a bottle. A failed experiment.”_    
   
Batman collided with yet another bat, tackling it to the ground before ruthlessly punching it in the face with a snarl. Damian’s focus was glued to the screen, now realizing what prevented him from getting there sooner.   
   
 _“You lost the world that might have been yours. You lost_ ** _me_** _. You’re losing_ ** _everything_** _.”_    
   
Batman leapt off the edge of the high rise, grabbing one of the bats mid-air. They rushed toward the ground. Damian stood, watching as Bruce fought to make it to the lobby. His stomach lurched and his face contorted as Talia spoke.   
   
 _“You’re losing the game.”_    
   
They heard a ragged gasp through the audio feed followed by a sickening gurgle. Jason grimaced, knowing full-well what had just happened. Damian’s hands flew to his chest, gripping his shirt, a look of pure anguish on his face.   
   
 _“Your move, my detective.”_    
   
Damian watched Batman dive through a broken window and into the lobby. His eyes scanned the screen wildly, trying to take in everything at once. Batman rolled to his knees, skidding to a stop in front of Robin. At the edge of the frame, Dick was lying on the floor, still unconscious. They could still hear Tim fighting off the other combatants in the background.   
   
The camera shifted as Batman looked down at Robin, the pool of blood spreading across the tile beneath him. The wound was enormous, much bigger than a child that size should ever experience. Jason immediately shifted to sit closer to Damian, who was still standing, and he took Damian’s hand in his. Damian squeezed but Jason understood he wasn’t indicating he wanted to turn it off. Damian shook his head, tears beginning to fall as he continued to watch. The video feed shook slightly as Batman tried to process what he was looking at, surveying the damage he knew was fatal before he even got there.   
   
 _“Batman. It was_ **me**.  _I did it. I killed your son. I beat you once tonight, old man.”_    
   
The Heretic’s voice filtered through the background noise again and suddenly there was a burst of activity. Batman took after the Heretic, the video feed becoming blurry with the pace at which Batman fought. Damian blinked and more tears fell as Dick’s voice came through again.   
   
 _“No. No_ _no_ _no_ _.. This isn’t happening! He was_ ** _okay_** _, just a minute ago! What just happened?”_    
   
Damian could see when Nightwing joined the fight, the blur of red seamlessly joining in alongside his Father as the Heretic screamed at him.   
   
 _“I never tire. I’ll break your back!”_    
   
The three of them, Batman, Nightwing and the Heretic, continued fighting. Batman and Nightwing held their own for only seconds before they were both overpowered and beaten into near-unconsciousness. There was an explosion and both the video and audio feeds went down, only to return seconds later.   
   
 _“Yeah. RUN!”_    
   
They heard Tim’s voice and watched as the crowd began to scatter. Batman rolled over and climbed to his knees, turning to watch as Nightwing carefully picked up Robin. Damian watched as Nightwing tried not to sob as he exited the building. He could hear Father gasping for breath, sobs wracking his huge frame, as he followed them out of the building.   
   
Damian gasped when the screen went dark and the audio stopped. He turned to see Jason at the computer.   
   
“Yeah, tater tot, I think we can stop there.” He walked around the back of the couch, sitting down and wiping his eyes. “We don’t need to see any more of that.  What Bruce did after that should remain private, I think.”   
   
Damian sat down, his breathing coming in rapid, shallow pants. Jason leaned forward, rubbing his back.   
   
“Are you okay?”   
   
Damian turned to look at Jason and shook his head, causing more tears to fall. Jason opened his arms and Damian hurled himself toward him, landing hard against his chest.   
   
“Breathe, Damian. Come on. You’re going to hyperventilate if you don’t slow down your breathing. I’ve got you. You’re safe. Dick is safe. Everyone is safe.” He rocked back and forth until Damian started to calm down, his breaths hitched and uneven, but slower. Damian tucked his head under Jason’s chin, clutching his sweatshirt tightly.   
   
Jason stared into the fire, continuing to hold Damian as long as he’d allow himself to be. When he thought he might get some sort of answer from him, he nudged Damian to see if he was still awake. Damian looked up at him, his eyelashes still wet with tears.   
   
“Did you see what you needed to see?” Damian nodded and laid his head down against Jason’s chest again. Jason could feel him swallow once, then twice, trying to talk around the lump in his throat.   
   
“It... it was as I remembered. Well, some of it.”   
   
Jason didn’t ask for clarification, knowing it would come when Damian was ready.   
   
“I remembered being so angry when he went after Grayson. And I remembered trying to distract him so Grayson would be safe.” He sniffled and sighed. “I’m glad my distraction worked. I was able to hold him off long enough for Father to arrive and get them out.”   
   
Jason closed his eyes, lamenting the fact that they would all sacrifice themselves for each other without a second thought, even those as young as Tim and Damian. He was proud of Damian, both for what he did that night and for what he’d accomplished since, but he wished it had never come to that. If Talia ever set foot near this family again, he would prove to her they were off-limits, and he wouldn’t regret his actions in demonstrating that fact.   
   
Damian began to relax against him, and Jason decided it was smarter to move him now than later. He stood and shifted Damian so he could wrap his arms around Jason’s neck. Damian did just that, also attempting to wrap his legs around Jason’s waist, but fell short as his legs weren’t long enough. Jason chuckled softly.   
   
“It’s okay, spider monkey. We’re just going to your room. I won’t go anywhere.”   
   
Damian sniffled.   
   
“Thank you.”   
   
“This is one of the strangest things I’ve even been thanked for, but you’re welcome.”   
   
They went down the hall and Jason tucked him into bed, propping himself up against the headboard at Damian’s request. Damian fell asleep with one of Jason’s hands combing through his hair. He checked his phone and had three messages, two from Tim and one from Barbara.   
   
 _Tim: Are you two_ _okay_ _?_    
 _Tim: I’ll take the lack of messages from you as a yes. FYI- Bruce is on his way home._    
   
 _Barbara: Please tell me you’re both okay after that. I think it was a horrible idea, but I also understand it, to an extent._    
   
He replied to both that they were fine and thanked them for their help. He put the phone in his pocket and sighed, looking at the window at the lights of Gotham in the distance. Damian had a pretty good view, a lot like the one in his old room. He heard the muffled sound of the front door. Bruce would be up any moment now, having seen his bike out in the driveway. He didn’t have to wait long as hurried steps came down the hallway. Damian’s door opened and light from the hallway spilled into the room as Bruce entered. His bow tie was undone, and the first buttons of his shirt were open.   
   
“Jason? What are you doing here? Is Damian alright?”   
   
Jason held a finger to his lips before disentangling himself from Damian’s arms, which had somehow wrapped themselves around one arm and a leg like an octopus. He pointed to the hallway and he followed Bruce from the room.   
   
“What’s wrong? What happened?”   
   
“Damn it, Bruce, calm down. He’s fine now.”   
   
Bruce looked back through the doorway and then at Jason. His expression darkened and his tone of voice dropped, both veering dangerously close to Batman territory.   
   
“You didn’t…”   
   
Jason stared right back at Bruce, drawing himself up to his full height, which was nearly the same as Bruce, and crossing his arms over his chest. They were standing eye to eye.   
   
“Yeah, I did. Because he asked me to. He remembered trying to save Dick and he needed to see that it worked. No one would listen to him long enough for him to explain that.”   
   
Bruce closed his eyes and exhaled, his shoulders deflating.   
   
“He needed to see that his death wasn’t meaningless. That his sacrifice fulfilled its purpose.”   
   
Jason nodded.   
   
“We both needed validation, old man. I needed to see that I meant something, that my life meant something. He needed to see that his death meant something. That it mattered.”   
   
Bruce looked at Jason, his eyes full of sadness and guilt.   
   
“It makes me feel like a failure that my children need that kind of validation.”   
   
“Well, if it weren’t for your ridiculously obsessive habit of documenting everything, you never would have been able to give it to us. So, there’s that, I guess.”   
   
Jason clapped a hand on Bruce’s shoulder and brushed past him, heading downstairs.   
   
“I’ve got to get out on patrol. See you later, Bruce.”   
   
“Jason?”   
   
Jason stopped on the landing and turned. Bruce was at the top of the stairs now.   
   
“Yeah?”   
   
“Thank you, for listening to him and for staying with him.”   
   
“Don’t sweat it. He’s not always a demon brat.”   
   
With that, he turned and left. Bruce went back to Damian’s room and knelt next to the bed. He carefully laid a hand on Damian’s cheek, sighing when he nuzzled against it. He went around to the other side of the bed and crawled in, settling himself in the spot Jason had occupied, smiling when Damian rolled and snuggled in next to him.   
   
“You matter, Damian. You’ve always mattered.”


	14. You have no idea who I am.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one takes place in the couple of years following the Red Robin storyline that began back in '09. I really liked his interaction with Klarion so I brought him back. 
> 
> Prompt: You have no idea who I am.

Tim groaned and laid his head down on his desk, his forehead making contact with a dull thud. The pile of paperwork to his left shifted and toppled over the side of the desk onto the floor. He made no move to pick it up, instead closing his eyes and sighing.   
   
He was tired.   
   
It wasn’t the ‘it’s been a long night’ kind of tired, nor was it the ‘I’m three days into a case and I’m almost done’ kind of tired. No, this was the ‘half of Arkham has escaped, I’m still sore from the  _last_ time, and I’m being pulled in four different directions’ kind of tired. 

He’d been in meetings with Lucius and the finance board most of the day after being awake for two days dealing with the aftermath of an attack by Victor Fries. He was supposed to meet Dick at the Manor tonight to prep for a takedown of drug smugglers in Bludhaven and somehow be working with Bruce on developing more detailed encryption software for the cave computer, too.   
   
Clearly, one or more of those things was not going to happen tonight.

He picked his head up off his desk and sighed again, glancing down at the puddle of papers scattered across the floor. Before he even considered picking it up, the hair on the back of his neck stood up and he heard a cat purring somewhere to his right. He shook his head.   
   
“Hey, Klarion.”   
   
Klarion appeared from the shadows behind the door to Tim’s office. Teekl meowed and leaped onto the desk before laying down on the report he’d been reading minutes earlier. Tim just stared at him, unable to think clearly enough to shoo the strange cat off his desk.   
   
“Tim. You look... what’s the word?” Klarion snapped his fingers and smiled. “You look exhausted.”   
   
Klarion sat down on the arm rest of the small sofa across from Tim’s desk, beckoning Teekl. He jumped from the edge of the desk to the couch, sending more paper to the floor. Tim collapsed against the back of the chair and rubbed his temples. He could feel a migraine coming.   
   
“To what do I owe the pleasure? Is Teekl in danger again?”   
   
Klarion shook his head and ran his knuckles gently down Teekl’s spine. The cat arched his back and began kneading the cushion.   
   
“No, not this time. I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop by. I owe you a favor.”   
   
Tim’s face scrunched into a frown.   
   
“What? That was  _years_ ago. You don’t owe me anything. Why are you really here?”   
   
Klarion’s mouth twitched into a smile as he rolled his eyes.   
   
“Ever the cynic. I check in on you from time to time to make sure you’re okay. After all that time spent abroad chasing down leads on you-know-who a few years ago, you had me a bit worried.”   
   
Tim’s eyes went wide, and he slouched in his chair, forgetting about the impending migraine, how itchy his eyes felt from lack of sleep and that he hadn’t eaten in about twenty hours. Klarion had been watching him for some time, apparently. His face flushed and he focused his gaze on Teekl, his voice going quiet.   
   
“I’m fine now. Bruce was alive and he found his way back. I lost myself for a little while, but I had some friends pull me back.”   
   
“Lucky for you. But I’m not here to check on you because of that; I know most of that is behind you. I’m here because I sensed you needed some help and I wanted to offer some of mine.” His eyes studied Tim closely, his expression unreadable. “So, what’s got you troubled?”    
   
Tim bit the inside of his cheek and looked around the room. In the last three hours, he’d made almost zero progress on the budget reports. His phone had eight un-read text messages and almost a dozen missed phone calls. Some were from Dick, several were from Bruce and there was one missed call from Steph. Knowing he couldn’t lie to Klarion because he wouldn’t leave until Tim accepted his help, he decided to just come clean.    
   
“I have too many things to do and not enough time or energy to get to everything.” He gestured to the screen on his phone, which was flashing with another text notification.    
   
Klarion glanced at the phone and the papers scattered throughout the room. He held his hand up and twirled his fingers in a circle once, then twice, and before Tim could say anything, all his paperwork was stacked neatly on his desk and his phone screen was dark. Klarion smiled.   
   
“Give me something that’s a bit more challenging. Would you like me to go visit Bruce? Or that Grayson fellow?” His eyes lit up, glowing brightly in the darkness. “Or I could go see that delightful Stephanie and assist her.”    
   
Tim smiled and felt some of the tension leave his shoulders. He couldn’t even begin to imagine Klarion working with Bruce in the cave. Admittedly, he kind of wanted to see it.   
   
“No, it’s okay. I just… Sometimes I wish they would forget I existed for a little while, so I have a chance to catch up, you know?” He rubbed his eyes with the backs of his hands, wincing because his eyelids felt like sandpaper. “I can do a lot of things but fixing everything isn’t one of them.”    
   
He yawned and opened his eyes. Klarion was grinning mischievously, dusting his hands together as he stood up.    
   
“I think I can help with that.”   
   
Tim felt his heart drop into his stomach. He could smell the spice of Klarion’s magic, and he abruptly stood up and hurried around the desk, knocking his chair over backwards.   
   
“What did you do?”   
   
“Nothing that will hurt anyone, I promise. I’m only giving you what you want. What you need.” He gently took Tim by the shoulders and steered him toward the couch, shooing away Teekl with stern look. “Now lie down and get some rest. Things will be better when you wake up.”   
   
Tim tried to protest, but as soon as the backs of his knees bumped against the couch, he felt his eyelids droop and his body begin to relax.    
   
“Klarion, don’t…”   
   
Klarion picked up his feet and helped Tim settle in before gently touching his fingers to Tim’s forehead.   
   
“Shhh. Just sleep, my friend.”   
   
Before he could protest further, he was asleep and Klarion disappeared. Teekl looked at Tim from the doorway and meowed before scampering after Klarion.   
   
“Yes, Teekl. I think we helped him a great deal. Come along.”

* * *

Tim opened his eyes to see sun shining through the window and hear a soft knocking on his office door. 

“Come in.”   
   
He sat up and rubbed his eyes before glancing at his watch. It was just after six-thirty. He stifled a yawn when Lucius entered.   
   
“Good morning, Mister Drake. Long night?” He set a cup of coffee on Tim’s desk, raising his eyebrows at the enormous stack of paperwork.    
   
“You could say that.”    
   
Tim stood and stretched, wincing at the stiffness in his back and shoulders. Lucius was leaning over the desk, flipping through the reports and spreadsheets.   
   
“Tim, this looks incredible. I can’t believe you managed to finish.”   
   
Tim choked on his coffee and Lucius politely pretended not to notice.    
   
“Uh, yeah. I finished just a few hours ago. How does it look?” He cautiously peered over Lucius’s shoulder and read along. The figures were what they should be, and he closed his eyes in relief. Lucius closed the report and nodded.   
   
“It’s exactly what we needed. I’ll bring everything downstairs to be prepped and copied.”    
   
He gathered the paperwork and turned to leave, stopping in the doorway.   
   
“Why don’t you take some time and go home to get changed? I’ll meet you in the conference room at eight-thirty.”    
   
Tim nodded and Lucius left. He stared out the window at the city as it came to life.   
   
What else had Klarion been up to?

* * *

The day passed in a blur as Tim went from meeting to meeting. He hadn’t had a chance to meet with Bruce yet as he’d had his own hectic schedule to attend to. It wasn’t unusual for their meetings not to overlap, but Tim had a bad feeling as the day wore on. He just couldn’t put his finger on it and Klarion was nowhere to be found.   
   
When he’d finally had a few minutes to check his phone around three that afternoon, the messages from the night before were still there. He brought up a text from Dick- the time stamp was from eleven last night.   
   
 _You on your way? Bit worried about you._    
   
The messages after that were all the same. Dick telling him he was worried, that it wasn’t like him to be late. The last one told him to call as soon as he could. That one was from four that morning. Tim cringed as he brought up Dick’s number; he was in for a lecture.   
   
Dick answered on the third ring.   
   
“Hello?”   
   
“Hey, Dick. Sorry I’m so late getting back to you. Last night sort of got away from me.”   
   
There was a pause.   
   
“I’m sorry to hear that, but who is this?”   
   
Tim looked at his phone, making sure it was actually Dick he’d called. It was indeed Dick’s number and he brought the phone back up to his ear.    
   
“Very funny. It’s Tim. How’s the planning for that op in Bludhaven? Do you still need my help?”   
   
There was a sharp inhale on the other end and several seconds of silence. Tim frowned.    
   
“I don’t know who you think you are, Tim, so listen closely. I don’t know you, I don’t know how you got this number, but if you’re as smart as you seem? You won’t call back again.”   
   
Tim was about to reply when Dick hung up on him. He stared at the phone in his hand, wondering what the hell was going on. Dick liked a practical joke more than most, but this? This didn’t feel like one of his usual pranks. He brought up Dick’s number again but before he could call him back, Lucius poked his head into the hallway.    
   
“Tim? We’re ready to get started again.”    
   
He looked up and nodded at Lucius before opening a new text to Steph. He quickly tapped a message to her before turning off the phone and putting it in his pocket. As he entered his fourth meeting of the day, he couldn’t help but notice the knot of dread that he’d felt earlier grow heavier, sitting like a lead weight in his gut.   
   
What had Klarion done?

* * *

It was dark by the time he got back to his apartment, his last meeting running much later than planned. He sat down on his bed and loosened his tie, checking messages he’d missed in the meantime. He had several from Steph. 

 _Um, who is this? I don’t recall dialing a number I don’t recognize._    
   
Thirty minutes later there was another one:   
   
 _Hello? Who the hell is this?_    
   
And when she didn’t get an answer, the final message came five minutes after that:   
   
 _Whatever. Consider yourself blocked, creep._    
   
Tim tossed the phone on the bed behind him and covered his face in his hands. Whatever Klarion had done had really made a mess of things. Hopefully, when he saw Bruce on patrol in a little while, he could fix it.   
   
He suited up and went to the roof, bringing up his gauntlet computer. He frowned at the red dot on the screen.   
   
What was Bruce doing up here?   
   
He turned around to see Batman standing on the ledge about fifteen feet from him, his enormous arms crossed over his chest.    
   
“Batman, I’m glad to see you. Listen, I…”   
   
“Who are you, what were you doing in this building, and where did you get the technology you’re using?”    
   
Tim’s jaw dropped open and he closed the screen, completely missing the second dot appear on the display before it went dark.   
   
“What are you talking about? I live here, B.” He gestured to his gauntlet computer and the bandoliers crisscrossing his chest. “And I developed all of this myself, with some help from Lucius. You should know all of that.”    
   
He carefully approached, watching in utter confusion as Batman drew his grapple and a set of restraints.   
   
“The penthouse in this building has been vacant for months. I don’t know who you think you are, but you’re coming with us.”    
   
Tim felt the pinch of a needle in his neck and he turned to see Robin tuck a syringe back in one of the pouches on his belt. He legs grew wobbly beneath him and he started to fall forward.   
   
“Bruce, wait. I can explain..”   
   
Before he had the chance, everything went black.

* * *

He woke up on the floor in their secondary detention facility, the one near Amusement Mile. He wasn’t restrained, though his wrists were sore, so he knew he had been at one point. The room was bare and windowless, the walls and floor painted a dull grey. He sighed and rubbed his neck where Damian had stuck him with the syringe.

He crawled to his feet and sat down on the empty cot. He was still woozy from the sedative and he had no idea how long he’d been out. Based on how stiff his arms and legs were, he’d say several hours.   
   
“Come on, guys. I know you’re watching me. I helped configure the surveillance in this building, remember?”   
   
A few seconds later, the door opened, and Dick entered in full Nightwing dress. Tim looked up and frowned; his body language was all wrong. Dick maintained his distance, staying outside of Tim’s reach, and his back and shoulders were rigid. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. To some, the move looked like a casual one. To Tim it looked like a panther crouched and ready to pounce.   
   
“You’re the one who called me this afternoon.”   
   
Tim sighed.   
   
“Yeah, Dick, I did. We were supposed to meet last night so I could help you with that op in Bludhaven.”   
   
He didn’t miss the way the muscles in Dick’s jaw set, nor did he miss his hands curling into fists.   
   
“Where did you get that information?”   
   
Tim stood up and wobbled for a moment, shaking his head.   
   
“I’m your teammate, that’s how. We work together, all of us.”   
   
Dick pushed off the wall and grabbed Tim’s bandoliers, spinning him and slamming him up against the wall. Tim winced when the back of his head hit the concrete surface.   
   
 _I guess that was the wrong answer._    
   
Before Dick could ask him anything else, Tim raised his arms and broke Dick’s hold, shoving him backward. He then kicked Dick in the chest, careful to place the kick where his body armor was the strongest and sent him careening into the wall behind him.   
   
“Dick, just stop. Let me explain.”   
   
They both turned as the door opened again and Batman, Red Hood and Robin entered. Tim didn’t bother checking to see if he had any kind of weapon on him; they’d surely stripped him of any of that as soon as he was unconscious. The four of them formed a semi-circle, trapping him in the corner.   
   
 _Seriously?! They think I’m that big of a threat?_    
   
Jason spoke first. He was still wearing his helmet and his deep, filtered voice bounced off the walls of the tiny room.   
   
“One last chance to answer the questions, punk. It’ll be much easier for you to just play along.”    
   
Tim took a defensive stance, bringing his hands up in front of him. Damian spoke next.   
   
“Tt. Please. As if you stand a chance against the four of us.”   
   
Tim shrugged.    
   
“Perhaps not, but I know how each of you fight. You can’t say the same.”   
   
Tim could practically feel Damian’s eyes narrow behind his mask. Dick and Bruce looked at each other, Dick shrugging one shoulder. Jason removed his jacket and tossed it into the corner behind him.   
   
“Let’s prove that theory.”   
   
The four of them rushed at Tim and he blocked their blows as fast as he could, but he couldn’t block everything. Both Bruce and Jason managed to land several kicks and punches, but because they were in such a cramped space, they weren’t as painful as he’d anticipated. His ribs would be sore tomorrow, but he didn’t think anything was broken.   
   
He didn’t even bother with offensive maneuvers because he was so outnumbered, so he just continued trying to block their attacks. Jason and Bruce continued to attack his upper body, while Damian wove between them trying to get to Tim’s legs. Tim narrowly avoided one of Damian’s kicks at the side of his knee, but while he was deflecting that, Bruce’s elbow struck his chest and knocked him backward, right into Jason. Jason wasted no time and wrapped his massive arms around him, but Tim knew it was coming and using Jason’s size against him, he broke the hold and threw Jason into Damian. They both tumbled to the floor.   
   
In the confusion, Dick managed to get behind him and sweep Tim’s legs from under him, and as soon as he hit the floor Jason and Damian pounced on his arms and legs. He immediately stopped struggling and looked up at Bruce. Jason had his left arm wrenched behind him and he applied more pressure to his shoulder, causing Tim to grunt. He turned his head and looked at Jason, glaring at him.   
   
“Jason, come on. I’m not even trying to get up, here. Knock it off.”    
   
Tim felt Jason tense at hearing his name and he braced himself for the punch he knew Jason would throw. He turned his head at the last second and the blow glanced off his jaw instead of breaking his nose. Tim closed his eyes and hung his head until the pain faded, and his breathing wasn’t so labored. They weren’t going easy on him.   
   
Jason rolled away from him, and Dick and Damian hauled him to his feet and dumped him on the cot. Tim rubbed his jaw and stared at the floor a moment, thinking back to his encounter with Klarion last night. He shook his head and leaned back until his back met the wall. He looked up to see Bruce standing directly in front of him with Dick and Damian flanking him. Jason was off to the side, putting on his jacket.    
   
Tim brought his legs up and rested his arms on his knees. There was no fighting his way out, and without any of his gear he couldn’t hack into anything to cause a distraction or gain some kind of advantage. He was screwed. He looked up at all of them and shook his head.   
   
“I’m not going to fight you. Despite what you think, I’m not a threat. I’m on your side.”   
   
Bruce stepped forward and hauled Tim to his feet. Tim held his hands out to the side, palms open.    
   
“You’re a threat of the highest order. You’ll remain here until I say otherwise.”    
   
Bruce let him go and turned to leave. Jason, Dick and Damian followed. Tim watched as Bruce opened the door and ushered Damian out first. He shook his head and his shoulders slumped in defeat as he collapsed onto the cot.    
   
“You really have no idea who I am.”   
   
Bruce and Dick stopped, turning to look at him. Bruce said nothing. Dick glanced sideways at Bruce as he spoke.   
   
“Should we?”   
   
Tim carefully stretched out on the cot, minding his sore ribs. He stared at the ceiling as he answered, his voice quiet even in the small room.    
   
“I’m just your brother, Dick. No big deal.”   
   
He rolled over and faced the wall, shutting his eyes. The migraine that threatened last night was now back in full force. He heard the door shut and lock behind him and the room went completely dark. He laughed bitterly; they thought the dark would scare him?    
   
He closed his eyes and tried to relax, focusing on anything but the migraine. But then he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up and Teekl meowed.   
   
Tim sighed.    
   
“Took you long enough, Klarion.”


	15. What you don't know can't hurt you.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I came across a headcanon that Jason’s trip to the Lazarus Put made him immortal, but he doesn’t know it yet. And what you are about to read just sort of… happened. 
> 
> A minor warning for injury applies; I mention blood a few times, but nothing more than that. It takes places in the general DC universe.
> 
> Prompt: What you don't know can't hurt you.

 

The fight raged for well over an hour before the last members of the League of Assassins who were still conscious disappeared into the pre-dawn darkness of Gotham. Tim leaned heavily on his staff, catching his breath while surveying the damage around them. His gaze darted back and forth across the deserted lot, getting a headcount.

He spotted Bruce at the south end of the lot, working with Damian to secure several members who were awake but incapacitated. Bruce was moving a little slower than usual but seemed alright otherwise. Damian was nursing an injured wrist and a bloody lip. He looked up and caught Tim’s eye, smiling at their success, and Tim nodded in return. He had to fight the urge to cringe at the site of Damian’s blood-stained grin. Hopefully he wasn’t missing any teeth.

Tim straightened and winced at the tightness in his back and shoulders. He’d be sore tomorrow, but he didn’t need stitches and he didn’t have any fractures or a concussion, so he considered that a win. He huffed a relieved sigh as he heard Dick walk up beside him.

“Hey, Red. I rounded up the few who tried to get out the back. You okay?” Dick laid a hand on his shoulder and squeezed, his touch comforting even through all the body armor. Tim nodded.

“Yeah. Batman and Robin are finishing up over there. They seem to be fine. You might want to check Robin’s left wrist, though. He’s favoring it.” He continued watching Damian, noticing now how he wasn’t using his left arm much.

Dick frowned and looked around.

“Where’s Hood?”

Tim turned and looked at Dick.

“He wasn’t out back with you? I saw him disappear that way right after you did.”

“No, he wasn’t…”

They both turned when they heard someone approaching from behind.

“You guys miss me or something?” Jason was dragging two unconscious League members by their collars. He shouldered past Tim and Dick and dropped them unceremoniously in the middle of the lot. “These two tried to make it to the sewers a few blocks from here.”

Tim noticed the way Jason stood there, shoulders stooped with an arm wrapped around his torso. He looked sideways at Dick and their eyes met, Dick nodding slightly.

“You alright, Little Wing?”

Jason’s reply was strained, and it immediately set Tim and Dick on edge.

“Been better. But you know. I’ve also been worse.” He released the catch on his helmet and removed it before dropping it to the ground. The sound caught Bruce’s attention and he came over, Damian just a few steps behind.

“Not a good time for death jokes,” Bruce said. He was working on his gauntlet screen, notifying Alfred to get the med bay ready.

Tim carefully opened Jason’s jacket to see a large patch of red spreading across the right side of his abdomen. 

“What the hell happened?”

Before Jason could reply, Dick was standing behind him, lifting his leather jacket away from his lower back. He sucked in a breath and looked back at Bruce.

“We need to get him to Alfred.  _Now_.”

He ducked under Jason’s arm and Tim did the same on the opposite side.

“I tried to tell them I wasn’t a pin cushion, but I don’t think they heard me.” Jason tried to laugh, but it came out as anything but.

“You’ve been run through with a sword, and you crack jokes? Seriously?” Dick shook his head, trying to walk faster. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“I was a little busy at the time. And I knew you’d find it, you mother hen.” Jason’s voice was a whisper at that point, equal parts pain and humor.

Tim just shook his head, his sore back protesting the weight of Jason’s frame.

“Let’s just get you to the car.”

* * *

Back in the med bay, Dick was tending to Damian and Tim was sitting in an ice bath. The three of them kept looking over at the curtain around the surgical table where Alfred was tending to Jason. Alfred banned them all from assisting, but Bruce ignored the order and helped when he could, starting IV’s for blood transfusions and saline, handing Alfred instruments and reading back vital signs.

“How’s he doing?” Bruce looked from Jason’s face to Alfred’s, looking for signs Alfred was nervous. There were none, much to his relief, but there were frown lines between his brows. “Alfred?”

Alfred shook his head and finished another set of sutures. He nodded to another packet of sutures and Bruce handed it to him, carefully opening it and exposing the end of the synthetic thread.

“Master Jason was extremely lucky, sir. No major organs were pierced by the blade, but based on blood loss alone?” He shook his head again and finished another line of sutures. He didn’t anything for a moment, instead focused on closing the last layer of Jason’s wound.

“Sir, as much it pains me to say, this young man should be dead,” Alfred said quietly and looked up at Bruce, maintaining eye contact. “And it’s not the first time I’ve had that thought as of late.”

Bruce didn’t say a word, instead looking down at Jason’s face. He had been so pale when they brought him in, but after Alfred managed to stop the bleeding and they got the transfusion started, his color improved almost immediately.

 _Too quickly_ , he thought.  _Much too quickly, despite his size and blood volume_.

Alfred finished covering the wound with clean gauze, gently taping it in place. He removed his gloves and tenderly ran his fingers through Jason’s hair.

“Master Bruce,” he began, softly so they wouldn’t be overheard. “If there’s something you aren’t telling me about Jason’s health, I wish you would consider sharing it.”

Bruce glanced through a gap in the curtains, noticing Tim and Dick standing just outside them.

“Jason will be fine, boys. Alfred’s finished closing the wounds. Would you two go prep a bed for him?”

Tim sighed at Bruce’s not at all subtle attempt to get them to disappear. Dick wrapped an arm around his shoulders and steered him away, saying something about a warm blanket and something to eat. Dick looked over Tim’s shoulder and back at Bruce, an eyebrow raised, but he said nothing. Bruce simply shook his head and waited until they were out of earshot.

“There’s something different about Jason’s ability to heal, Alfred. It’s...”

“Accelerated,” Alfred finished for him. “This is the third time I’ve treated him in as many months, and no matter the injury, it’s never as grave as it should be. He recovers days or  _weeks_  ahead of schedule. What would seriously injure or kill any one of you has nowhere near the same effect on Master Jason.”

Bruce nodded.

“I know. And I don’t think it’s as simple as he’s healing faster.” He looked up at the nearly empty bag of blood and turned off the drip for it, leaving only the saline drip to finish.

“The injuries he’s had lately, this one especially. I don’t think it would have killed him.”

Alfred’s face registered a rare look of surprise.

“Master Bruce, he lost over…”

“I know but think of how he came back. The Lazarus Pit revived him and look how long it kept Ra’s alive. I don’t think Jason’s rapid healing is what’s to blame here.”

“You don’t think…”

“You said it yourself. These injuries lately should have killed him. The only reason they haven’t  _isn’t_  because you treated him. You merely minimized the damage his body had to repair.”

Alfred tried to speak, and Bruce held up a hand.

“I don’t think he  _can_  die, Alfred.”

Bruce and Alfred looked at each other and then down at Jason. Bruce lowered his voice even further.

“And I don’t think Jason is aware of that yet.”


	16. You broke me.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was inspired by yet another play-through of Batman Arkham Knight. During the scene where Batman’s being hauled off to Arkham to confront Scarecrow, Alfred tells Bruce he’s being tracked through the city. Bruce insinuates that Jason is the one tracking him, and my brain went “WHAT IF JASON TRIED TO STOP THAT TRUCK TO TRY AND FOIL SCARECROW’S PLAN BECAUSE HE HAD A CHANGE OF HEART?”
> 
> There are spoilers for Batman Arkham Knight here and I borrowed a few lines of dialog from the game, as I wanted to fix the ending. This takes place in the Arkham!verse.
> 
> Warnings: Mentions of torture, some swearing, Jason does shoot some people, and there are some mental health issues depicted.
> 
> The prompt for this chapter was “You broke me.”

Jason ripped his helmet open and leaned against the fire escape, trying to catch his breath. The sensor on the building where Scarecrow demanded Batman turn himself over was tripped five minutes ago and he'd sprinted over the rooftops from halfway across Bristol. He knew he didn't have much time until the truck left, taking Batman to Arkham for his unmasking, but he knew he had to try to stop it.

He hoped Bruce noticed the red Bat symbol hastily painted on the building when he'd gone in.  
  
He climbed down the fire escape and crept across the street to a deserted SUV that somehow hadn't been vandalized yet, breaking the driver's side window. He got in, hot-wired the engine and brought up his gauntlet screen to check the GPS tracker. At the same time he tapped into the audio feed from the back of the truck. He was already listening to the audio feed from Bruce's cowl and had been most of the night.

The red dot on the screen began to move and Jason put the SUV in gear and pulled out into the street after it. He heard Alfred tell Bruce the truck's movements were being tracked.  
  
Well,  _that_ was quick.  
  
What no one knew was that Jason installed the tracking device and microphone to make sure Scarecrow didn't double-cross him. He'd wanted his chance to end Bruce, after Scarecrow had his fun. But after their confrontation at the mall, Jason's mission objectives changed drastically and it went from being an assassination mission to a rescue op.  
  
Oh, the  **irony**.  
  
So between the hacked comm feed and the microphones in the truck, he could hear both sides of the conversation. He rolled his eyes when Bruce replied.  
  
"I knew he would."  
  
He stomped his foot to the floor and took off after the truck, chasing it out of Kingston and over Mercy Bridge. He knew the fear toxin levels in the back of the truck were rising rapidly.   
  
He listened as Scarecrow taunted Batman, telling him the nightmare was almost over and his failure was almost complete. Jason's gut rolled at the thought he'd helped orchestrate this. He knew he had a lot of shit to work out now, but he couldn't allow Scarecrow to finish their plan. Not after what happened earlier. Not after he'd seen the look on Bruce's face.  
  
You can't fake that kind of shock, not even if you're Batman.  
  
He raced over the bridge and through the side streets of Bleake Island, the truck only a few blocks ahead of him. He just needed to stop the truck before it crossed onto the bridge to Arkham Island; if it reached the bridge, there was no cover and no way to get Batman hidden long enough for the fear toxin to work its way out of his system.  
  
As he rounded a corner, he spotted the truck at the next block. He needed to nudge the bumper with the SUV to force it off the road. He grit his teeth and gunned it through the intersection, ignoring the blaring horn from a car that had the right of way. The car clipped the rear passenger side of the SUV, sending him careening off course.   
  
"Fuck!"  
  
The SUV fishtailed as he tried to keep it from sideswiping a burned-out garbage truck. He cranked the wheel and caught up to the truck.   
  
"Brace yourself, Bruce," he muttered. Jason mashed his palm against the horn before colliding with the rear bumper, watching as the truck swerved and hit the curb, rolling into a vacant lot before coming to rest on its roof. He parked the SUV behind an empty school bus and climbed out, staying low and in the shadows as he crept toward the truck.  
  
In his ear piece, he heard Bruce groan, apparently still in the back of the truck in range of the microphone.  
  
"Mother, don't go. Please.."  
  
Jason froze and flattened himself against the side of a building, guilt and panic and fear churning in his stomach. He sank to his knees and clawed at his helmet, gulping in the cold night air when it opened.   
  
Bruce was reliving the night his parents died.  
  
He closed his eyes and inhaled slowly, trying to pull himself together. It had only been a few hours since their confrontation, since he'd learned Bruce actually believed the Joker had murdered him almost three years ago. Hours since he realized every single reason he had for planning this entire op was bullshit; that the Joker and Harley had beaten him and scrambled his brain until he honestly believed Batman would give up on Robin.   
  
That Bruce would give up on  _him_.  
  
He scrubbed his hands over his face and choked back a sob when he realized how thoroughly fucked up this all was. He was  **furious** with Batman for seemingly abandoning him, for letting this happen and replacing him. He'd been through absolute hell- the beatings from the Joker, the meds Harley forced down his throat, the days and  _weeks_ of isolation. While most of it blurred together, he remembered the day he broke with absolute clarity. The exact moment he knew he was never going to go home, when he wished they would just kill him. It was the day the Joker showed him the photo of Batman and Robin. A Robin that  _wasn't_ him.   
  
He felt sick all over again at the memory and leaned forward, his hands on his knees. When he was sure he wasn't going to vomit he sat back against the building. He was shaking.  
  
The Joker did terrible and sadistic things to him just to spite Batman, because he wanted Batman's attention. And after everything Joker did, no matter how horrific, Batman never did what was necessary to stop him. It was a vicious circle of murder, terror and nightmare-inducing behaviour that Jason got caught in the middle of and had paid the price for.  
  
But then Bruce had seen his face and he'd been genuinely surprised. That's when the small glimmer of hope, hope that Bruce hadn't really forgotten about him after all, took hold and royally screwed everything up.   
  
Anger replaced the fear and the panic and Jason laughed, and it sounded so, so wrong. Suffice to say his mental and physical well-being were treading on some pretty thin fucking ice at the moment.   
  
A groan from the overturned truck drew his attention and he turned, leaning around the corner. The driver pulled himself from the cab and crawled toward the back of the truck. One of his legs was clearly broken. Jason took several deep breaths to ground himself and he stood up, drawing his sidearm and securing the helmet in place once again.  
  
He stalked around the corner and stopped in front of the driver, cocking his head to the side. The driver looked up at him, relieved at the sight of the Arkham Knight standing in front of him.  
  
"Sir. We got run off the road, I didn't see who it was." He pulled himself into a sitting position and looked up at Jason, the grimace when he jostled his leg replaced by a confused frown. "We heard you split after your fight with the Bat- you okay?"  
  
Jason flicked the safety off his gun.  
  
_No, I'm definitely not fucking okay.  
_  
"I'm fine. Change of plans. I'm personally escorting Batman to the Asylum."  
  
The driver nodded and leaned against the side of the truck.   
  
"You sound so different without the voice modulator. So young." He reached into his jacket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, lighting the last one and tossing the empty pack back toward the cab. "The guy in the cab is out cold and my leg's broke. Wish I could help you get the bastard to Arkham."  
  
The memory of Batman standing over him earlier, offering to help him, saying they could  _fix this_ , flashed through his mind and Jason flinched.   
  
"Your help won't be necessary."  
  
He fired a round into the driver's chest and he went still, the cigarette dropping to the asphalt next to him. Jason knelt behind the truck and pried the door open, revealing a semi-conscious Batman. He holstered the gun and reached in, dragging Batman out and clear of the truck.   
  
Jason knelt next to him and studied him. The suit was in tatters. In addition to the bullet he'd fired into Batman's abdomen hours ago that appeared to still be lodged there, there was a new hole in the right side of the Bat symbol on his chest. The armor plating was scratched and filthy. The cowl was scuffed and dented, and Bruce’s nose was definitely broken underneath it. He had some nasty bruising forming along his jaw. The cape had holes in it and his gloves were coated in grime and blood.   
  
All to try and save a city that tried to kill him on a nightly basis.  
  
"You look like hell, B," Jason said quietly. "You just don't know when to quit."  
  
At the sound of his voice, Bruce's eyes opened and he looked up at Jason. His pupils were dilated, the blue of his irises almost non-existent; he was still deeply under the influence of the fear toxin. Before he realized what he was doing, Jason released the catch on his helmet and opened it again, allowing Bruce to see his face. His eyes widened and he reached a hand toward Jason.  
  
"It can't be..."  
  
"Yeah, it can be." Jason sighed and his chin dropped to his chest. "We've gotta get out of here; Scarecrow's going to realize the truck isn't on schedule. C'mon." He tugged on Bruce's arm to get him to stand, but he remained on his hands and knees.  
  
"You can't be him. I watched Joker shoot him." Bruce's voice went eerily quiet. "I watched Jason die."  
  
"I wish I had," Jason muttered. "But we don't have  _time_ for this."   
  
Bruce backed away from Jason and shook his head, like he was trying to clear it.  
  
"No. I failed him. I need to find him. He was right here the whole time and I..." His eyes darted frantically around the empty lot, no doubt searching for the car. "I need to tell him that I didn't know." His eyes met Jason's and the despair in them made Jason shiver.   
  
"I searched that asylum for  _weeks_. How could I not have  **known** he was there?"  
  
Jason bit his lip and closed the front of the helmet again before he lost control of his emotions.  
  
_He's afraid he failed me?_  
  
He heard the rumble of a large truck down the street.   
  
"We need to leave. Now."  
  
He pulled Bruce to his feet and led him toward the back of the lot, away from the street. There was a mechanic's garage the next block over that probably had a vehicle they could use to get Bruce back to the cave. As they walked, he looked back over his shoulder at Bruce. He was completely lost in his own head and unaware he was being led through Gotham by the man who'd helped orchestrate everything he'd been through.   
  
But considering he was  _allowing_ himself to be led around meant he didn't believe himself to be in any danger. Something no one (apart from Superman) could do was force Bruce to follow someone he didn't trust.  
  
Jason wanted to cry at the irony.  
  
He picked the lock on the door of the garage and pushed Bruce through before closing and locking it behind them. He steered Bruce toward a chair and he sat the moment the backs of his knees hit the seat.   
  
"Hang tight while I find us a ride."  
  
Jason started rifling through the rack of keys hanging above the counter, momentarily forgetting about Bruce until he started talking again. He froze and dropped the set of keys he was holding.   
  
"I'm still in control, Joker. You won't get the upper hand."  
  
Jason turned and leaned against the counter, his hands gripping the edge tightly.   
  
" _What_ did you just say?"  
  
Bruce looked up at him and Jason swore his eyes were a neon shade of  _green_.  
  
He backed away from Bruce, knocking over a canister of rusted bolts. The sound echoed loudly throughout the shop and Jason flinched at the noise. Bruce was looking right through him and spoke to whoever it was he saw.  
  
"You won't break me, Joker. You can't." Bruce looked down at the floor for a moment before glancing up at Jason. His gaze was still vacant, his mind was long gone at the moment, but at least his eyes were back to blue. "I'm already broken."  
  
Jason picked the keys up off the floor and glanced out the window, using the key fob to find the Chevy they would use to get Bruce back to Alfred. It was parked just across the lot from the door and he breathed a sigh of relief.  
  
"Come on, Batman. We need to get you back to your butler."  
  
He turned back to find Bruce watching him. And he was lucid.  
  
"He'd love to see you, you know."  
  
Jason crossed his arms and leaned back against the counter. Despite Bruce not being able to see his face, his focused his gaze on the floor anyway, too embarrassed and ashamed to look him in the eye.  
  
"I highly doubt that, after everything that's happened tonight."  
  
Bruce stood, carefully making his way toward Jason. He stopped several feet away.   
  
"We all thought you were..." he trailed off for a moment, clearing his throat. "I meant what I said, earlier."   
  
_It's not too late. We can fix this... Together._  
  
Jason felt the anger rising again.   
  
"Not that simple. You have no idea what he did to me."   
  
The look on Bruce's face said otherwise. Jason narrowed his eyes, forgetting Bruce couldn't see it.   
  
"Based on what I saw in the video he sent me, I have an idea."  
  
Jason shook his head and turned toward a sedan with its tires missing. He punched the trunk, leaving a considerable dent. To hell with being quiet any longer.  
  
"That was five minutes, Bruce. He had me down there for OVER A YEAR!"  
  
Bruce, to his credit, said nothing.   
  
"You have no idea what they did to me," Jason continued, trying to keep from getting hysterical. "I held out for six  **months** before I gave anything up. Six months! And do you know why I finally gave up, after everything they put me through?" He retrieved a photograph from his back pocket and flipped it at Bruce. He reached for it and turned it over, his face growing even paler.  
  
"Yeah. I found out I was replaced. So it turns out you deserve all the credit for this one, Batman," Jason said, his tone pure venom. " **You broke me.**  Not the Joker, not Harley. Not the guards who took turns beating me. It was you."  
  
"I'm sorry about all of this, Jason. But you need to know there's more to it than that. Consider the source. Please." Bruce put the photograph on the chair behind him. "You know what the Joker was capable of."  
  
"I certainly do now."   
  
Bruce sighed deeply and his hand went to the wound on his abdomen when the muscles tensed painfully. He looked much older and wearier after the events of the night. He sat down again and reached for the medical pouch on his belt before remembering he'd removed it. Jason reached into his own belt and fished out a small bottle of pills, tossing it to him.  
  
"Here. It's hydrocodone. Should take the edge off."   
  
Bruce nodded and took three of them. Before he could speak half a dozen members of the militia stormed through the door.  
  
"Sir? You found him! We're here to bring Batman to the asylum. Scarecrow is waiting."  
  
Bruce looked at Jason and gave a subtle nod, a look of determination back on his face.   
  
_I'll do it for you, if that's what it takes.  
_  
Jason turned toward his men.   
  
"Get him there in one piece, or you'll all wind up like the driver. Are we clear?"  
  
"Sir, yes sir."   
  
"And don't tell Scarecrow I had to round him up. He's got enough to worry about."  
  
Bruce stepped in behind several of the militia and headed toward the door. He glanced behind him before he stepped outside in time to see Jason nod once.  
  
_You won't have to. I'll get there._

 

 

* * *

Based on the radio chatter he was listening to, Scarecrow had indeed changed the plan. The militia were now under strict orders not to let the Arkham Knight anywhere near the Asylum. Their orders were to shoot him on sight and shoot to kill. It didn't bother Jason in the slightest. Considering the one man who'd been kicking their asses all over Gotham that night was the one who originally trained him in the art of covert ops? 

He'd take those odds any day of the week.  
  
But one thing he wasn't ready for was how he'd feel being back on that godforsaken island and staring at the Intensive Treatment building. It wasn't even where he was headed; Scarecrow was set up in the mansion to the east, but in making his way past armed guards and sentry guns, he had to go the long way around Intensive Treatment to get there.

He barely made it to cover behind an overgrown hedge of ivy before he was throwing up, once again feeling the sting of the cold water they poured over his face and the phantom pains of a crowbar, and hearing the sizzle of a branding iron as it was held to his cheek.   
  
Strangely enough it was Robin's voice in his ear piece when he spoke to Batman that brought him back to the present. He forced himself to focus as Scarecrow and Batman started talking. He shook his head and climbed to his feet when Scarecrow bragged about robbing Gotham of hope. He'd been robbed of that, too, once. There was no way he could let Gotham be robbed of whatever hope it had left after tonight.   
  
He was only a few hundred yards from the mansion and there were five men between him and the front door. Jason changed the display in his helmet to night-vision and quietly assembled his sniper rifle, taking position on his belly. On his next exhale, the man closest to him went down, followed by his partner ten yards to the right. And when the other three came to investigate he hit them with a smoke grenade before coming up behind them, choking them out.   
  
As he was dragging them into the bushes, he heard Commissioner Gordon and Scarecrow arguing, followed by a gunshot he heard both through the ear piece and through a broken window of the main entrance hall of the mansion.  
  
Jason froze.  
  
Gordon and Bruce were talking now and neither of them sounded like they were in pain, which means Scarecrow likely just shot Robin. Something in Jason broke loose, something he hadn't felt in a long time.  
  
An urge to protect someone.  
  
He knew full well Tim Drake could hold his own in a fight and he'd tested that himself on several occasions. But the fact a Robin was just shot so someone could prove a point? He didn't care who it was- the son of a bitch would pay for that.  
  
Jason sprinted toward the mansion, taking the steps two a time and running a thermal scan of the entrance hall. There were only four people on the screen: Gordon, Bruce, Tim and Scarecrow. He was about the kick the door in when he heard Scarecrow's voice, full of surprise and amusement.  
  
"Wayne? Bruce Wayne?"  
  
He was too late; he hadn't made it in time to stop Scarecrow from broadcasting Batman's identity to the world. Had he not panicked when he'd seen the Intensive Treatment building, maybe...   
  
With an anguished groan, he slid down the door and buried his head in his hands. But he heard Bruce's voice in his head, from when he was much younger and worrying too much about things outside of his control.  
  
_What-if's don't help people, Jay-lad. Focus on what you can control._  
  
He opened his eyes and stared at the Intensive Treatment building, resolve replacing the panic. He could still stop this- he could still stop Scarecrow from killing Bruce, Tim or Commissioner Gordon. Jason stood and brought up an old floor plan of the building in his HUD as Scarecrow continued talking.   
  
"Now the world can see you for what you truly are. A legend laid bare. Powerless. Human. Afraid."  
  
He heard Bruce moan in pain after the telltale hiss of Scarecrow's injection delivery system pumped him full of the liquid fear toxin. He had to get in there as soon as possible if he was going to get them out alive. But he couldn't barge in the front door and risk Scarecrow shooting any of them just because he could. There was an old service entrance to the kitchen around back that he could use to gain entrance.   
  
He made his way around back through a maze of tangled shrubs, broken shutters and fallen bricks, listening to Scarecrow drone on to his live audience about fear and how necessary it is, and how useless Batman was now that he'd been unmasked. No wonder he'd been so insistent on killing Batman before their plan really got off the ground- the man talked constantly. Jason broke the lock on the door and carefully made his way in, listening as Scarecrow continued taunting Bruce, this time about his friends being hunted down and killed for his actions as Batman.  
  
It wasn't Bruce's reply that made his blood run cold, but the laughter that followed it.  
  
That cackle, the way it made his skin crawl and the hair on the back of his neck stand up.  
  
It sounded just like the Joker.  
  
Jason rushed to the sink and retched, the sound of that laughter too much to bear. His heart pounding in his ears muffled the sound of Bruce being injected with another dose of toxin. He struggled to breathe normally, growing lightheaded as he began to hyperventilate. He could hear Scarecrow getting angry that Bruce wasn't playing along anymore and Jason knew he didn't have much time left to intervene.   
  
He turned and studied the floor plan, following the maze-like hallways until they opened into the rear of the main entrance hall. He stuck to the shadows and made his way toward the light thrown off by the bank of television monitors mounted against the eastern wall. Bruce was strapped to a gurney that was tilted upright, Gordon knelt on the floor next to an unconscious Robin, and Scarecrow was grandstanding in front of a lone camera.  
  
Jason watched in horror as Scarecrow turned from the camera and injected Bruce a third time. He chambered a round in his rifle and lined up his shot, but he hesitated when he heard Bruce speak.  
  
"I'm not afraid, Crane."  
  
Scarecrow stepped back as if he'd been slapped, drawing a gun from his waistband and holding the barrel against Bruce's forehead.  
  
_Now or never, Jason. Show him you're still here._  
  
Jason shouldered the rifle and looked down the scope, the laser sight landing on the gun in Scarecrow's left hand. One shot sent the gun flying. The second shot broke the restraint holding Bruce's arm. Bruce grabbed Scarecrow's wrist as he was going to inject him again, wrenching it around and forcing the maximum dose into Scarecrow's chest.  
  
"What's wrong? Scared?"  
  
Bruce towered over Scarecrow as the toxin took effect and as he let him go, Jason could see the panic on Scarecrow's face even from his vantage point. Scarecrow stumbled backwards, right into Gordon's fist, and wound up unconscious on the floor. Bruce looked up from where the shots were fired, immediately finding Jason's position.   
  
Jason froze, not knowing what to do or say. All he could manage was a nod.  
  
_I'm late, but I'm here.  
_  
For everything he'd been through tonight, Bruce managed a small smile and a nod in return.  
  
_I knew you would be.  
_  
With that, Bruce crouched next to Gordon and Tim. As Jason turned to leave, he heard Gordon tell Bruce that Tim would be okay. He made his way back out the way he entered and stood at the fence, looking out into the bay and back at the lights of the city. The skies were clearing and he could see the first signs of dawn off in the distance.  
  
"Are you going to be alright?"  
  
He startled when Bruce's voice came through his ear piece. That meant he was wearing the cowl again. Jason chewed his lip for a moment before he answered.   
  
"I really don't know."  
  
There was a pause and Jason could hear the jet approaching the other side of the island. He turned and watched Batman grapple up into the cockpit.   
  
"When all of this settles, whenever that may be, I'd like to talk. If that's okay with you."  
  
Jason's eyes watered and he swallowed hard before he answered. The jet hovered over the north end of the island and Jason would be money Bruce was scanning to see where he was.   
  
"I.. I'll be around. You'll know where to reach me."  
  
The jet banked and headed toward the Manor, not back into the city.  
  
"I left something for you in our usual spot."  
  
Jason turned and began the trek back across the island, giving the Intensive Treatment building a wide berth.   
  
"The keys to the Bentley?"  
  
He could feel Bruce's eye roll through the comm link.  
  
"Information. Resources. Something to help you settle into life again."  
  
Jason stopped next to his motorcycle and shook his head.  
  
"When the hell did you have time to do that?"  
  
Bruce answered without missing a beat.  
  
"I have a butler, remember?"  
  
The link clicked off and Jason got on his bike, heading back into the city. He had some things to take care of before he went back to his safe house, mainly rounding up straggling members of the militia for the GCPD.   
  
Then he'd make a stop by the Gotham Knights baseball stadium, where they used to watch ballgames every Saturday, and see what Bruce left for him. He had no idea what his future looked like or what it had in store for him, but the very fact he was planning for one meant he was headed in the right direction.   
  
For the second time that night, he allowed himself to hope.  
  
And that felt pretty good.


	17. I hate Halloween.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the result of a conversation between a friend and me on Tumblr about dogs and how they follow you absolutely EVERYWHERE. But with Titus, following around his family involves some pretty strange stuff.
> 
> The prompt for this was “Have I mentioned I fucking hate Halloween?”
> 
> Warnings: As you can see from the prompt, there’s an F-bomb in this one. And some mentions of blood, but that’s it. How Damian and Titus meet is a bit of an AU here, too, but it takes place in the general DCU.

 

Titus was seven months old and just over a hundred pounds when he first came to the Wayne household.

The one he'd know as Alfred saw him first and he had a kind voice and a gentle hand. He patted his leg to beckon him closer, praising him for being such a good dog. Titus warily approached, keeping his ears drooped and his tail down. Alfred held out his hand for him to smell, and when Titus took advantage, he slowly leaned down to scratch behind his ears. It was a spot Titus recently discovered was one of his favorites, and he immediately sat down, his leg thumping the hardwood floor in response.   
   
"You just made a friend for life, Alfred."

Titus looked up at Bruce, the man who brought him home, and tilted his head, ears flopping to one side before looking back to Alfred.   
   
"Indeed, Master Bruce. He seems like a fine animal."   
   
Titus stood up and nosed his way under Alfred's hand again, looking for more affection as he leaned against his hip. He was rewarded with scritches along his neck and down his back.   
   
"Father? What is  _that_?"   
   
Titus startled and turned to see a small boy approach. His voice was sharp and loud. He backed away and crept behind Bruce, peeking out from behind his hip. Bruce's large hand rested on his head, rubbing his ears.   
   
"Damian, there's someone I'd like you to meet. He's a bit scared I think; he's just a puppy."   
   
"That enormous thing is a  _puppy_?"   
   
Damian approached, eyeing him warily. He didn't move from behind Bruce and was trembling, watching Damian as he came closer. Bruce leaned down and gave him a pat on the shoulder.   
   
"It's okay. You're new to him, too."   
   
Titus looked up at Bruce and saw that he trusted this boy and he sensed he could, too. He carefully stepped from behind Bruce toward Damian, who was holding his hand out. He sniffed it, all the while watching Damian's body language, and felt his tail begin to cautiously wag as he relaxed.   
   
He smelled familiar, somehow.   
   
Titus excitedly moved his nose up Damian's arm until he was staring him in the face, still trying to determine what he smelled like. He realized what it was, and his tail whipped back and forth, moving his entire rear end in excitement.   
   
He smelled like  **home**.   
   
He lunged forward and licked Damian, his enormous tongue covering the side of his face and leaving his hair standing up.   
   
"Ugh! You... you beast! Stop!"   
   
Damian stumbled backward and collapsed to the floor, Titus following him and continuing to lick his face. The more Damian laughed, the more excited Titus got and the more he licked.   
   
"Father!" Damian giggled. "Get him off me!"   
   
Titus backed away from Damian, allowing him to catch his breath and stand up. Bruce patted his leg like Alfred had earlier.   
   
"Come on, big guy. Let's get you some dinner."   
   
Titus turned and looked at Bruce and Alfred, then at Damian before sitting down next to Damian and leaning against him. Bruce laughed and Alfred smiled.   
   
"I think he's chosen a favorite."   
   
"Indeed, he has. Come, Master Damian. Let's feed him and you can tell me about ideas for names."   
   
Titus looked at Damian, waiting for him to lead the way. Damian tilted his head and put his hand beneath his muzzle. He tried to lick Damian's fingers.   
   
"You look like a Titus to me."   
   
Titus barked, the deep, loud sound making Damian smile.   
   
"Definitely a Titus." 

* * *

Titus quickly learned he was the caretaker of their pack. But the pack leader?   
   
That was Alfred.   
   
Titus believed Bruce could be the pack leader one day; he was the biggest and the strongest and he acted like a pack leader should. And while Dick and Jason were always challenging Bruce and fighting with him, Titus knew they didn't really want to be the pack leaders, either. Tim and Damian were too young to challenge Bruce, but Titus sensed that Tim never wanted to, anyway.   
   
Alfred was the oldest, so it made sense. He was the one the others looked to for guidance and leadership. He helped care for them when they got hurt and made sure they had food and a place to sleep. And once Alfred was done, Titus could take over. He learned very quickly how to respond to what his pack needed. 

One afternoon, about a year after Titus came home to the Manor and six months since he was allowed down in the cave, his senses told him something was off. Something felt different. It all started when Dick came home. Titus was out in the garden with Alfred trying to nap in the sun when Dick appeared around the side of the house, waving and calling his name. Titus clambered to his feet and bolted across the yard, nearly knocking Dick over.   
   
"Titus, hey! Long time, no see, buddy!"   
   
He sniffed at Dick's hands and sleeves before moving down his pant legs to his shoes. He hadn't been in Gotham long; he still smelled like Bludhaven. Damian took him there once for a weekend while he was recovering after a bout of pneumonia. Titus didn't like Bludhaven; it was too far from the Manor. Too far away from his pack.   
   
Not long after Dick came home, Titus was in the den with him and Damian when he heard a motorcycle come up the driveway. He greeted Tim as he came through the front door with a quiet bark, his tail wagging happily. Tim had a bag slung over his shoulder and looked anxious, so he licked Tim's hand and circled around behind him, rubbing against Tim's leg like he'd seen Alfred the cat do to Damian. They all seemed to like it, so he'd continued doing it.   
   
"Nice to see you too, Titus."   
   
He watched as Tim went through the library, Dick and Damian following behind him, and disappeared downstairs into the cave without him. He sat in front of the clock for a few minutes, pacing back and forth, waiting for someone to let him through, but the door remained closed. He knew Bruce wasn't down there, so he trotted back through the library and upstairs to find him.   
   
He searched the usual places first: the study, Dick's bedroom and the spare room that still smelled like Jason. With Bruce nowhere in sight, he went back down the hallway and entered Bruce's bedroom, nose in the air. He wasn't lying in bed and he wasn't standing at the window. That's when he heard the water shut off in the bathroom. The door wasn't closed all the way and Titus nudged it open a bit further. Bruce was hunched over the sink, leaning on the counter and staring at his reflection in the mirror. Water dripped off his jaw onto the collar of his shirt. He knew when he saw Bruce like this, he needed a little help getting going.   
   
He pushed the door open wider and walked in, his nails clicking softly on the tiled floor. He sat down on the rug next to Bruce and glanced up at him, wagging his tail hesitantly before leaning against him. Bruce sighed and smiled, looking at him in the mirror.   
   
"They left you behind again, didn't they?"   
   
Bruce wiped his face with the towel on the counter and bent down, thumping his hand against Titus's broad shoulder.   
   
"Let's get down there, then. Jason should be here by now."   
   
At the mention of Jason, his ears perked up and he took off, galloping down the stairs and sliding around the corner. The rug Alfred put there specifically so Titus wouldn't crash into the front door again went sliding wildly out of place. Before he darted into the library again, he heard Bruce's laugh carry down the stairs. Bruce came and opened the door, allowing Titus through first. He bounded down the steps toward the computer console where he heard voices. Skidding to a stop, he only saw Damian, Tim and Dick huddled around the table. But that wasn't right; not only could he smell Jason; his motorcycle was parked next to the car.   
   
Nose to the floor, he made his way around the cave. He wasn't in the med bay, he wasn't over by the showers, and he wasn't over by the gym. Titus lifted his head and looked around, sniffing the air. Dick was looking at him, trying not to laugh.   
   
"He knows you're here, Jay. Just give him a minute."   
   
Titus cocked his head at Dick's use of his name, before putting his nose back to the floor. He followed Jason's scent back toward his motorcycle, walking right past it to the trunk of the Batmobile. He sat down and barked loudly, quite pleased with himself.   
   
"Open the trunk, Damian! It's hotter than hell in here!"   
   
Titus stood and barked again, his tail wagging so hard his entire body moved. Damian opened the trunk from where he stood and Jason crawled out, grinning widely.   
   
"I need to find a better hiding spot. You're getting pretty good at this, big guy!"   
   
Titus lunged at him, putting his massive paws up on Jason's shoulders to lick his face. He laughed as he wrestled the dog backward, away from the car.   
   
"Ack! Dog breath! Get him off me! Help!"   
   
They collapsed into a heap on a nearby training mat with Titus showing no signs of stopping his assault on Jason anytime soon. He stood over Jason, nosing his way through the insides of his jacket looking for treats he knew Jason always carried. Jason laughed again, pulling a giant Milkbone from a side pocket of his pants.   
   
"Looking for this, are you?"   
   
"No wonder he likes you so much," Dick said, shaking his head. "You bribe him."   
     
Titus sat down in front of Jason, obediently waiting for the treat. Jason held it out for him, and he took it gently, not even touching his fingers. Just like Damian taught him.   
   
"Nah," said Jason. "He likes me so much because we wrestle and play a little rough." He ran his hand down Titus's back, scratching at the base of his tail. "Don't we, you big goofball?" Titus paused long enough to turn around and look at Jason, wagging his tail in appreciation.   
   
Titus finished his treat and laid down on the mat, watching as Bruce joined the rest of them from upstairs. They started talking about a game plan and Titus laid his head down, knowing it would be a little while before everyone left so he could maybe get a nap in. The last thing he heard before Alfred called him upstairs for his dinner was Dick's voice.   
   
"Remember when Halloween in Gotham used to be fun?"   
   
Hours later Titus laid near the computer console, sulking. Alfred had already scolded him several times for following him around. But the feeling of unease he'd felt earlier that day was back in full force and they were all still out there, out where he couldn't keep an eye on them. He hadn't even touched the bowl of kibble Alfred put out for him a few minutes ago after he'd completely ignored it upstairs.   
   
He raised his head and watched Alfred sit down at the keyboard. He turned toward him and held out his hand, smiling softly when Titus went and sat in front of him, laying his head in his lap. Alfred stroked his ears.   
   
"I'm sorry for scolding you, my boy. I know you're worried. I am, too. Halloween isn't a good night for this family."   
   
Titus raised his head and stared at Alfred a moment before leaning forward and gently licking Alfred's chin.   
   
"I'll allow that, just for tonight. Be sure to save those for Master Damian."   
   
Titus startled when an alarm went off on the console and Alfred spun in the chair, typing a command into the computer.   
   
"Master Bruce, what is it?"   
   
"Get the med bay ready. Jason, Tim and Damian are hurt."   
   
Alfred's fingers flew over the keyboard and lights turned on in the med bay. Titus lowered his ears and whined at the tone of Bruce's voice.   
   
"What am I preparing for, sir?"   
   
"Blunt-force trauma, fear toxin and Jason's been shot."   
   
"Are you and Master Grayson alright?"   
   
There was a long pause before he answered.   
   
"We'll manage. ETA four minutes."   
   
Alfred sighed and closed his eyes, his hand wandering to the side, looking for Titus. He nudged his head beneath Alfred's hand and the man opened his eyes, glancing over at him.   
   
"Time to get to work, young man. We have some frightened boys coming home."   
   
When the Batmobile first entered the cave, followed by Dick driving Jason's motorcycle, Titus ran and hid under the computer console. There was shouting and people rushing around, going back and forth between the med bay and the Batmobile. Titus noticed that several of them smelled just like he'd felt all day; scared, nervous.   
   
Panicked.   
   
He crept from beneath the computer, slinking behind Bruce and Alfred as they worked on Jason. He smelled a lot of blood near the three of them, but after Alfred scolded him earlier, he didn't want to get into trouble again so he went to find Damian. He was sitting on a gurney next to Tim and they both clung to each other, shaking and trembling. Titus sneezed as he got closer, shaking his head at the strong scent of fear radiating off them.   
   
Dick limped over from the closet, carrying an armful of supplies. Titus saw a box fall to the floor as Dick passed by him and he carefully picked it up. He sat down next to Dick and waited while he rifled through everything, all the while talking to Tim and Damian in a low, soothing voice.   
   
"We're home, guys. Just try and stay calm, okay? I have the anti-toxin right here."   
   
Dick reached for something and found it missing but before he could go looking for it, he noticed Titus holding the box of syringes carefully in his mouth. His tired face melted into a smile.   
   
"Thanks, Titus."   
   
Dick took the box and turned back to Tim and Damian.   
   
"See that? We have our very own canine medical assistant here."   
   
Titus watched as Dick carefully injected something into Tim's arm, then into Damian's. As soon as they relaxed and were lying down, he went to work tending to their cuts and scrapes, his left arm moving awkwardly whenever he tried to use it. Dick knocked another box to the floor and when he bent down to pick it up, he stumbled and collapsed into a heap.   
   
Titus leaned down and whined, licking Dick's face to try and wake him up. When that didn't work, he sought out Alfred. He was still with Bruce tending to Jason. He whined again, louder this time, and when that didn't get their attention he barked as loudly as he could.   
   
Bruce and Alfred startled and looked over at him, confused. But when Bruce saw Dick sprawled out on the floor behind him, he rushed over. By then, Tim was awake and kneeling next to Dick.   
   
Titus watched as they lifted Dick up onto another bed.  His face was pale beneath the harsh lights and Titus could smell blood. This time it wasn't Jason's. He circled the table and stood on the other side, between Tim and Damian, who was still unconscious.   
   
"Tim, you should be lying down."   
   
Tim shook his head and began cutting the suit away from Dick's abdomen. His fingers were coated in red almost instantly.   
   
"Bruce, I'm fine now. Just a few cuts and scrapes. But look at his left arm. It's broken."   
   
Titus watched from his place next to Damian's bed as they took care of Dick. He sensed movement behind him and turned to see Damian open his eyes. He laid his head on the bed in front of Damian's face, pressing his nose against Damian's until he was fully awake. Damian reached a hand up and took one of his ears between his fingers, rubbing the silky soft fur.   
   
Titus licked Damian's cheek as he sat up, taking in his surroundings. He wouldn't let Damian stand up, laying his large head in his lap. He could still smell and feel the fear coming off him and his hands shook as they continued to pet him.   
   
"Father?"   
   
Bruce turned and heaved a sigh of relief at seeing Damian awake. He was still leaning over Dick, his gloved hands covered in blood and holding a suture needle and thread.   
   
"Just stay put, Damian. Dick will be fine once I get his wound closed and Alfred sets his arm. He's over there behind us working on Jason."   
   
Titus felt Damian tense, his fingers tangling themselves in the scruff of his neck. It didn't hurt at all, but he whined quietly and licked the inside of Damian's arm.   
   
Damian looked down at him, his eyes full of worry and pain. He pulled his legs back up over the edge of the bed and scooted backward, patting the mattress beside him.   
   
"You're not normally allowed up here, but I don't think Father will mind," he whispered.   
   
Titus wagged his tail and his ears perked up, easily climbing up onto the bed. Damian was sitting at the head of the bed leaning against the wall into the corner, and Titus carefully laid down with his head and one leg draped over Damian's thigh. Damian's hand moving down the back of his head and down his spine calmed him. He noticed Damian's hand gradually slow, then stop, as he fell asleep. Titus sighed and continued watching Bruce and Alfred care for Dick.   
   
A short while later, Titus was almost asleep when he heard a loud sigh. He opened his eyes just as Bruce collapsed into a chair next to Jason's bed, his head resting heavily on one hand. Alfred came up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder.   
   
"Master Bruce, I think it's time you go upstairs and get some rest. Tim managed to get Dick to his room, and I can take Master Damian up myself. I'll come back down to watch over Jason until morning."   
   
Titus saw movement on Jason's bed, and he raised his head, his tail thumping softly against the wall.   
   
"Nah, I'm awake, Alfred," Jason said, his voice husky and quiet. "I can get upstairs with a little help."   
   
"You'll do no such thing," Alfred admonished, "I spent too long tending to that gunshot wound for you to be up and walking before you're ready."   
   
Titus sat up as Jason did, crawling off Damian's bed and stretching before making his way over to Jason. He nudged himself between them, laying his head in Jason's lap. Bruce smiled as his tail whipped back and forth, whacking him in the chest.   
   
"Hey, buddy. Come to check on me?"   
   
Titus leaned into Jason's hand as he scratched the side of his neck before nudging his face beneath his arm. He felt Jason's laugh rumble in his chest, the vibration against his ear soothing.   
   
"I don't want to stay down here in the cave," Jason said quietly. "I'll take it easy once I get upstairs. Just don't make me stay down here."   
   
Bruce glanced at Alfred and raised an eyebrow. Alfred sighed, clearly not going to win this one.   
   
"I'll take Master Damian. There's no way I can carry a man of your stature, Master Jason."   
   
Titus backed up as Jason stood, leaning heavily on Bruce. When he was nearly upright, he grinned and looked Bruce in the eye.   
   
"I'm almost your size, B."   
   
"In your dreams, Jay. Come on. Let's get you up to bed."   
   
Jason crossed an arm over his abdomen, shielding his injury, and wrapped the other around Bruce's waist. Alfred was leaning over Damian, whispering that they were going to bed. Damian leaned into Alfred's chest, allowing himself to be picked up, and the four of them headed toward the stairs.   
   
" **Have I mentioned, I** **fucking** **hate Halloween?** " Jason muttered once they were at the top.   
   
"Join the club," said Bruce, easing them through the narrow doorway. They paused and stepped aside, holding the door open for Alfred and a sleeping Damian.   
   
Titus followed them through the library and up the stairs to the bedrooms, watching Bruce walk Jason to his room down the hall and Alfred enter Damian's room. He turned and backtracked to Tim's room, checking on him first. He sniffed along the edge of the bed until he reached Tim's pillow. Tim was curled up on his side, hair still damp from his shower. There was a tablet near his outstretched hand, the battery dead. On his nightstand, there was a cold cup of coffee and an untouched sandwich Titus knew he'd eat later when he woke up.   
   
Satisfied, he went down the hall to Dick's room.   
   
He found Dick sleeping on his back, propped up with several pillows. His left arm was in a cast, tucked into a sling over his bare chest. He put his front paws up on the bed and leaned in, sniffing at Dick's face and the bandages over his right side. His skin felt warm next to his nose. He was relaxed and no longer smelled of fear or blood. He was content Dick would be okay.   
   
Next to Dick's room was Jason's and he was just settling into bed when Titus came to check on him. He was reaching for the lamp and grinned as Titus poked his head around the door frame.   
   
"Hey, Titus. I'm fine. Go check on the kid, okay? He's probably gonna have some nightmares tonight."   
   
Titus didn't move, watching Jason as he changed his mind about turning off the lamp. He winced, settling onto his back and drawing the blankets up to his chest. Titus came to the bed and shoved his nose into the crook of Jason's neck. Jason wrapped his arm up and around Titus's head, turning his face toward him and squeezing gently.   
   
"I said I'm fine, you big softie," Jason whispered, his voice ragged.   
   
Titus didn't move for a moment. He could still smell fear all over Jason now that the blood was washed away.     
   
"Go on, now. Go check on Damian. I'll be here in the morning."   
   
Titus pulled back and cocked his head to the side for a moment before turning and heading back out into the hallway. He passed Damian's room and approached Bruce's. The door wasn't closed all the way, it was still open a few inches, and Titus lowered his head to push it open.   
   
Bruce was sitting on the edge of the bed in the dark, his elbows on his knees and his face buried in his hands. Like Dick, he wasn't wearing a shirt but there were no bandages, only bruises. Titus approached him carefully, bowing his head and nudging up under Bruce's hands, licking his cheek. Silently Bruce leaned forward and wrapped his arms around him, his cheek against the soft fur at his neck. Titus rested his chin on Bruce's shoulder.   
   
He pulled away and looked at Titus. There was pure exhaustion all over his face.   
   
"Thanks for looking after my kids," he whispered. "You're such a good dog."   
   
Titus licked his face again and sat down in the floor, staring at Bruce, waiting.   
   
"Okay, okay. I'm going to bed."   
   
He slid under the covers and lay down, his eyes closing almost as soon as his head hit the pillow. Titus turned and left, heading to Damian's room.   
   
Damian was facing away from the door and curled up into a ball in the middle of his bed. Titus climbed up onto the bed, carefully settling next to Damian. He laid his head down next to Damian's pillow and huffed a sigh.   
   
The house was entirely quiet. Everyone in his pack was accounted for.   
   
Now he could sleep.


	18. I think people hug at this point.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one takes place in the YJ!verse and is after season two. I fudged some timelines, I think, so Lian could stay fairly young.
> 
> The prompt for this chapter was “I think people hug at this point.”

Roy sighed and began his eighth lap around his apartment, slowly running his hand up and down Lian’s back. She woke up early from her nap half an hour prior just as he was settling in to catch up on his Netflix queue. His binge session would have to wait. When this 18-month old wasn’t ready to sleep, nothing short of walking her around the apartment would relax her.   
   
As he passed the front door there was a soft knock. Roy peered through the peephole, surprised to see the man standing there. Carefully he shifted Lian to the other shoulder and leaned to open the door.   
   
“Dick?”   
   
Dick glanced up from the floor, seemingly surprised Roy answered. His face melted into a soft smile when he noticed Lian peering at him from her place tucked against the side of Roy’s neck.   
   
“Should I come back?”   
   
Roy stepped aside and held the door open.   
   
“Nah, she’ll be awake for a little while. C'mon in.”

Dick toed off his shoes and went down the hallway to the living room. He took a seat on the couch that faced the large windows overlooking Star City and sank back into the plush upholstery. Roy joined him but continued walking back and forth in front of the window. He could feel Lian’s head growing heavier against his neck. She was about five minutes from conking out again, if he was lucky.   
   
“How have you been? I haven’t seen you in a while.”   
   
Dick mulled the question over, studying his hands as they toyed with the cuff of his jacket. Roy waited patiently and glanced at Lian’s reflection in the window. Her eyes were closed. He turned in time to see Dick smother the misery he was feeling behind a cheerful grin.   
   
“Oh, you know. Same old. Bludhaven keeps me busy.” He watched Roy take a seat in the rocking chair near the window, carefully keeping Lian tucked against him. One of her tiny fists was tangled in the collar of his shirt. The other hung limply against his arm.   
   
“How are things going with Lian?”   
   
“Other than being unable to sleep more than a few hours at a time and changing some pretty disgusting diapers, it’s been easier than I thought it would be.” He brushed his lips against her dark hair, smiling faintly when she sighed. “The first time I gave her a bottle I was a goner.”   
   
“I can see why.”   
   
Dick watched the two of them as Roy rocked her, remembering how shocked he was when Roy told him about Lian. He’d been in the throes of his addiction when Jade returned and told him they had a daughter. Lian was exactly what Roy needed to get and stay clean and Dick couldn’t be prouder.   
   
“I’m going to go lay her down. I’ll be right back.”   
   
Roy eased out of the recliner and disappeared to the nursery, leaving Dick to his thoughts. His vision blurred and he swiped the back of his hand across his eyes. The last few weeks had taken their toll on him and he was barely holding it together. He’d isolated himself from everyone, including Bruce, and only recently returned from a self-imposed exile.   
   
He looked around the room at the art on Roy’s walls. There were several abstract pieces and framed photographs on his walls next to some newer photos of Lian. There was one small frame, about five inches by seven inches, hung next to a postcard depicting the Hall of Justice in Washington, D.C. Dick stood and wandered over to the photo. His heart lurched painfully when he got close enough to see who was in the photo. He forgot it even existed, it was taken so long ago.   
   
The three of them stood in front of the Hall. They were wearing civilian clothes with their arms draped around each other. It was taken about a year before the team formed, back when they were Speedy, Robin and Kid Flash.   
   
Back when they were still sidekicks.   
   
He felt the tears return and didn’t bother to hide them this time. He didn’t have the energy to anymore. The smile that began to form at the memory of that day felt foreign to him, but he let it happen. It was time.   
   
A moment later a floorboard creaked, and Roy appeared next to him, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans.   
   
“He was such a dork when it came to photos. I can’t even remember who took that.”   
   
Dick’s smile grew wider at the memory.   
   
“It was a tour guide from the Justice League museum. She had a crush on Kid Flash.”   
   
Roy nodded and grinned.   
   
“Oh, yeah. I’d never seen Wally so proud.”   
   
“You should have seen him when Queen Perdita thanked him after her transplant. His feet didn’t touch the ground for days.”   
   
They stared at the photo for a moment longer before Dick moved to stand in front of the window. Roy studied him. Dick was never any good at talking about what bothered him. And he was terrible at admitting when he needed anything from anyone. You had to carefully draw it out of him; if you weren’t careful, he’d retreat and trick you into thinking he was fine.   
   
“I tried stopping by after he...” Roy trailed off. Even now it felt wrong to say it aloud. “But they said you left.”   
   
Dick’s back straightened ever so slightly. Roy watched Dick’s reflection in the window as he closed his eyes.   
   
“I had to get away. I couldn’t handle it.”   
   
“And Bludhaven wasn’t far enough?”   
   
Dick raised an eyebrow.   
   
“You’re one to talk.”   
   
Roy shrugged and sat down.   
   
“Hey, no judgement here. But I couldn’t reach you and I was worried. Sue me.”   
   
Dick’s shoulders slumped and he collapsed on the couch next to Roy. He drew his legs up and wrapped his arms around his knees. Roy always thought Dick to be larger than life; he grew up next to Batman, for crying out loud. But sitting there on Roy’s couch, he looked incredibly small.   
   
They sat there for some time, how long it was Roy didn’t know, but it was long enough that shadows began to stretch across the living room as the sun moved across the sky. While he couldn’t call it a comfortable silence, it wasn’t tense or awkward. Before it could stretch any longer, Roy turned to face his friend. Under normal circumstances, you had to be careful when trying to get Dick to open up; you had to be subtle. He had a feeling now was not one of those times.   
   
“What’s on your mind?”   
   
Dick’s eyes, usually a vibrant shade of blue, were tinted dark with emotion. His jaw quivered and he bit his lip until it stopped.   
   
“I’m so tired of losing people.”   
   
Roy felt his stomach drop. He moved closer to Dick and reached for him, pulling him into his shoulder. He collapsed into Roy and finally broke down. Months of pent-up grief and pain were knocked loose and tumbled free, leaving him battered and bruised, but not broken. Roy left his arm there as long as Dick would allow him.   
   
They were both startled by Lian’s sleepy cry through the baby monitor on the end table. Roy stood and turned to go get her, but Dick grabbed his arm.   
   
“Roy?”   
   
He turned and looked at Dick, clearly puzzled.   
   
“Yeah?”   
   
“Can I go get her?”   
   
Roy stepped out of the way, gesturing to the nursery.   
   
“Sure.”   
   
Dick smiled and held out his arms, but this time it was the old-fashioned, authentic Dick Grayson smile. Roy frowned.   
   
“What?”   
   
“I think people hug at this point.”   
   
Roy rolled his eyes but opened his arms and pretended to be annoyed.   
   
“Fine.”   
   
Dick wrapped his arms around him and squeezed. Roy returned the gesture. While he may not ever admit it? Dick gave the greatest hugs. He stepped away and went to find Lian.   
   
“Thanks, Roy.”   
   
“Anytime. And Dick?” Roy grinned when he recognized Lian’s impatient cry. “You might want to breathe through your mouth. Sounds like she needs a diaper change.”


	19. Jason, meet John Constantine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason narrowed his eyes, backing away from Bruce.  
> “What the hell are you talking about?”  
> Bruce raised an eyebrow.  
> “John Constantine is here and would like a word with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I came across an idea out there on Tumblr that since Jason died and came back, he’s able to see ghosts and other non-living beings. One day John Constantine shows up to exorcise a demon and remarks that he’s never seen so many spirits drawn to someone before. Of course my brain went ‘WRITE SOMETHING IMMEDIATELY’, so here we are.
> 
> This is my first attempt at writing John Constantine, so beware. There’s a mention of some blood, but nothing graphic, and a swear word or two.

 

Tim was the first to notice it.

Jason hadn’t been back that long, maybe eight months, when they encountered each other at a crime scene. Jason was already there wrapping things up when Tim arrived. He acknowledged Tim with a nod.   
   
“Hey.”

“Hey,” Tim said, approaching carefully. There was a tentative truce happening at the moment, and he didn’t want to stir things up. “Want any help?”   
   
Jason yanked on the end of the flex cuffs around the man’s wrists, tightening them painfully. The guy he had pinned to the ground hissed.   
   
“Watch it, prick! That hurts!”   
   
Jason dug his knee in harder, tilting his head to the side as he looked down at him.   
   
“Tell that to the woman you attacked, asshole.”   
   
Tim heard muffled crying from somewhere behind him and went to check it out, carefully peering around the corner. A young woman was huddled on the ground, clutching her coat against her chest and crying. Tim approached slowly, making noise so she could hear him.   
   
“Are you alright? Do you need anything?”   
   
She sniffled and looked up at him, shaking her head.   
   
“N-no. I’m okay. My roommate is coming to get me once the cops get here.”   
   
Tim went back to where Jason was standing only to find him staring at something. His posture was rigid, and he’d removed his helmet. Behind the domino, his eyes were wide, and he was holding his breath. He stopped beside Jason and turned to see what he was looking at but saw nothing but the darkness and shadows in the alley.   
   
“Hood?” Tim asked quietly. Tim’s voice seemed to shake him out of his trance and Jason cleared his throat loudly.   
   
“You got this? I need to be somewhere.”   
   
“Sure. You call GCPD?”   
   
Jason nodded and put his helmet back on, grappling up and disappearing. Tim took one last glance at what Jason had been staring at but saw nothing. He knew Jason wasn’t at one hundred percent at the moment (why would he be, after everything he’d been through), but he had a feeling whatever Jason saw was real enough to actually scare him.   
   
And that frightened Tim, just a little.

* * *

Weeks later Dick was the next to observe the strange behavior.

He climbed to the roof of the Arkham medical facility, heaving himself up over the edge and laying on his back for a moment trying to catch his breath. He and Jason finished clearing the building of rioters when Jason disappeared suddenly.    
   
Dick knew where he’d be; they all tended to seek some altitude when things got rough and Jason was no exception. He was sitting on the roof facing Gotham Bay, staring into the night sky. It was only about an hour until dawn, so it wasn’t nearly as dark as it had been when the riot first started. Dick could see Jason’s helmet sitting a few feet from him, seemingly ripped off and tossed aside, based on the scuff marks.   
   
Jason tensed momentarily and reached into his jacket as Dick approached, but relaxed when Dick sat next to him. He kept about two feet of space between them; according to Tim, Jason startled easily these days. It was like he was somewhere else.   
   
“You okay? I turned around and you were gone.”   
   
Jason’s jaw clenched and he closed his eyes.   
   
“I’m fine.”   
   
Dick nodded and turned his face out to the water, breathing deeply.   
   
“You know you can talk to me if you need to, right?”   
   
Jason tilted his head down, his eyes still closed.   
   
“Just back  _off_ ,” he muttered.   
   
Dick got the distinct impression Jason wasn’t talking to him, so he waited patiently. Moments later Jason opened his eyes and looked at him. Even in the darkness Dick could see how bloodshot Jason’s eyes were.   
   
“None of you can help with this.”   
   
“Little Wing, we might not have been through what you have, but there are still ways we can help…”   
   
Jason interrupted, his voice tired and weary.   
   
“That’s not what I’m talking about. It’s okay. Just... don’t worry about it.”   
   
Not wanting to push Jason any further, Dick let it go. They sat next to each other for a few more minutes. At several points Jason turned and looked over his shoulder, grimacing before looking out at the bay again. Dick said nothing but watched with a great deal of concern. They were in no danger of anyone coming up behind them, yet Jason kept glancing back as if he were expecting someone.   
   
“Do you see something back there, Jay?”   
   
Dick’s question clearly rattled him because Jason shuddered violently. He leaned back and grabbed his helmet before climbing to his feet.   
   
“You don’t wanna know.”   
   
He took off sprinting for the edge of the roof, diving off the edge before firing his grapple. Dick stared out over the water. Whatever Jason was seeing definitely had him spooked. And it was unnerving to see Jason afraid of anything, let alone something that wasn’t really there.

* * *

Bruce was next. 

He convinced Jason to meet him at a diner for breakfast and a long-overdue conversation. They were sitting across from each other in a booth by the window, talking about anything and everything  _except_  what happened to Jason in the warehouse and after. Jason barely touched any of his food and had already drained three cups of coffee. He was staring out the window watching people rush off to work. Bruce set his fork down and blotted his mouth with a napkin before leaning back against the booth.   
   
“Jason, is there something wrong? Are you alright?”   
   
Jason turned to Bruce and attempted a reply, but his gaze stopped at something over Bruce’s left shoulder. His eyes widened and he bit his lip, quickly looking down at the table and closing his eyes. He exhaled deeply and slowly. Bruce frowned and glanced over his shoulder. Other than a few other patrons of the diner there was nothing out of the ordinary behind him.   
   
“Jason?”   
   
“I’m fine,” he said, much too quickly. “Just a long night, that’s all. You were saying?”   
   
He picked up his fork and stabbed at his omelet. Bruce sighed and picked up his own fork. While they were mending their relationship, apparently they hadn’t reached a point where Jason trusted Bruce enough to talk to him about anything more serious than Dick’s job as a cop or Alfred’s latest attempt at waffles.   
   
“Alfred had a wonderful idea. Are you free Thursday night? We’re planning a family dinner and would love for you to join us.”   
   
Jason put down his fork and shrugged.   
   
“What time?”   
   
“Dinner would be at seven, but you’re free to come whenever you’d like.” Bruce tried not to get overly hopeful, but Jason’s hesitation instead of the usual ‘no way in hell’ response was a surprise.   
   
Jason looked out the window and cringed before leaning his elbows on the table and mashing his hands over his eyes. Bruce turned to see nothing but some early morning fog, commuters rushing to work and a GCPD officer patrolling the sidewalk across the street.   
   
“I’ll be there,” Jason said suddenly, his voice tired and rough. “But I’ve gotta go. Something’s come up.” He refused to make eye contact with Bruce as he reached for his wallet.   
   
“Jason, no. I’ll take care of this.” He stretched his arm over the table, his large hand gentle on Jason’s wrist. “Please, let me.” Jason looked up, focused only on Bruce’s face. Bruce could tell Jason was fighting the urge to look behind him again.   
   
“Okay. Thanks, B.”   
   
He climbed out of the booth, rushed to the door and disappeared in the throng of people outside the door. Bruce looked behind him one more time.   
   
There was still nothing there.

* * *

Bruce joined Alfred in the kitchen Thursday afternoon, smiling when he saw Dick emerge from the pantry carrying an armful of supplies.

“You can place those on the counter, Master Dick. Thank you.”   
   
Dick unloaded the food and took a seat at the table, sneaking a carrot from the salad.   
   
“I’ll pretend I didn’t see that,” Alfred muttered dryly. There was a hint of a smile on his face as he tossed Dick a cherry tomato from the carton he had in his hands.   
   
Bruce took a seat across from Dick, also taking a carrot. Alfred sighed and set a small platter on the table between them, filling it with the vegetables he hadn’t used in the salad.   
   
“Have either of you noticed anything unusual about Jason?”   
   
The blunt nature of the question caught both Dick and Alfred off guard. Dick studied the carrot he was holding before popping it into his mouth.   
   
“Apart from his temper, the violence, the attacks on nearly everyone in this house, and the fact he returned from the dead?”   
   
Bruce almost choked on his carrot and Alfred spun on his heel.   
   
“Master  _Richard_ ,” he scolded. Dick held up his hands.   
   
“I’m not judging, honestly. But there’s a lot that’s unusual about the guy. He’s been through a lot.” He looked over at Bruce. “So, you’ll have to be a little more specific.”   
   
Tim entered the kitchen and went straight for the refrigerator, grabbing an energy drink. Dick pulled out the chair next to him and Tim sat down. He opened the can and took a drink, glancing between Bruce and Dick.   
   
“Okay, now what happened?”   
   
When Bruce didn’t say anything, Dick answered.

“Bruce was wondering if we’ve noticed anything unusual about Jason.”   
   
Tim’s curiosity piqued, he leaned forward.   
   
“You mean like how he’s talking to or seeing things that aren’t really there?”   
   
Bruce’s eyes widened and he looked at Tim, who was surprisingly casual about it.   
   
“I noticed it a few weeks ago and again the other night. Except the second time, he was muttering to someone I couldn’t see.”   
   
Dick nodded and turned to Tim.   
   
“Like he honestly believed there was someone there.”   
   
“Exactly, yeah.”   
   
Bruce interjected, concerned they’d both had more contact with Jason than he had.   
   
“You’ve been working with him?”   
   
“Not working  _with_ him, per se, although I wouldn’t turn him down if he wanted to.” Tim toyed with the energy drink can, sliding it back and forth between his hands. “A few times we arrived at the same crime scene. The first time it was like he saw a ghost, judging by the look on his face. The second time he told someone or something to fuck off and leave him alone.”   
   
“Language, Master Timothy.”   
   
“Sorry, Alfred. Just quoting the source material.”   
   
Alfred turned from the stove and leaned a hip on the counter, arms crossed over his chest.   
   
“Has it occurred to any of you that whatever that young man has been through has severely traumatized him? That his seeing things is a result of his resurrection and its complications?”   
   
Bruce looked at him, frowning.   
   
“Of course it has, Alfred. But as far as helping him is concerned, we need to figure out whether it’s a mental illness or a side effect of whatever brought him back. Treatment can only happen once we know what we’re treating.”   
   
Damian chose to enter the kitchen at that moment, arms crossed and leaning against the doorway. The expression on his face was one of disinterest.   
   
“Why don’t you ask him? He just pulled into the driveway.” He turned to leave, muttering to himself. “Although if it were up to me, I’d put him in a strait jacket and hand him over to the staff at Arkham.”   
   
Dick and Bruce both looked at Damian, shock clearly written on their faces, and they both spoke at the same time.   
   
“ _Damian_!”   
   
He stopped and turned around.   
   
“What? You said it yourselves. He’s damaged.”   
   
“So are you, apparently,” Tim muttered.   
   
Bruce frowned at Tim, a look that said  _you aren’t helping._  Alfred turned and Damian immediately glanced his way, his face going pale.   
   
“Young man, if I hear anything like that from you again, you’ll be dealing with me. Do you understand?”   
   
Damian nodded and disappeared toward the library.   
   
“Jesus,” Dick muttered, a hand raking through his hair. “He doesn’t mince words, does he?”   
   
Bruce sighed in response and stood up, following Alfred to the front door. Dick looked at Tim.   
   
“You said Jason looked like he’d seen a ghost. You don’t think...”

Tim only shrugged a shoulder.   
   
“It wouldn’t be the strangest thing we’ve encountered.”

* * *

Jason cut the engine of his bike and tugged his helmet off, his thick hair standing on end as he stared up at the house. He dreaded coming to the Manor. It wasn't because Bruce and everyone was here, but because the estate was old and with old properties came ghosts, demons and other paranormal beings. He wasn’t sure what was going on with him since he got back but whatever it was, he wished it would stop.   
   
He hung his helmet on the handle bar and climbed off the bike, walking up to the front door. He hadn’t seen anything since he’d left the city and for that he was relieved. The last few nights he’d spent reading up on the history of Wayne Manor to try and find out if he’d be seeing any malevolent spirits or ghosts, but he’d come up with nothing. That was the only reason he was currently standing on the front steps.   
   
Before he even had his hand raised to knock the door opened and Alfred was standing there with a smile on his face.   
   
“Jason, my boy. How good to see you.”   
   
Jason crossed the threshold and glanced quickly around the entrance hall, relief washing over him when he didn’t see anything or anyone who wasn’t supposed to be there. Dick and Tim were standing in the doorway to the living room, Dick waving like a child. Bruce was standing just behind Alfred.   
   
“We’re glad you came.”   
   
He nodded and handed Bruce his jacket, removing his boots and heading toward the living room, still subtly looking around. It had become a habit the last month or two and most of the time he didn’t even realize he was doing it until someone mentioned it.   
   
Like now.   
   
“What are you looking at, Jaybird?”   
   
Jason scowled at the nickname and brushed past Dick to enter the living room.   
   
“I haven’t been here in a while. Sue me.”   
   
He took one of the armchairs by the fireplace and curled up in it, staring into the flames. Dick and Tim took the couch and Bruce sat in the chair opposite Jason. Damian wandered in a few minutes later and sat down on the carpet in front of Bruce’s chair.   
   
Jason felt the hair on the back of his neck tingle, an all-too-familiar feeling lately. He slowly turned his head to see a dark-haired woman standing in the doorway, fingers toying with a string of pearls around her neck. He slammed his eyes shut and turned back to the fire, not caring at all who noticed. At least she wasn’t hideously deformed from some horrible or violent injury like most of the beings he saw were. She only had a stain on the front of her dress that was hard to see since the fabric was also dark. He inhaled sharply and held his breath, a thought crossing his mind. She looked familiar and he knew why. His eyes moved to the portrait above the fireplace. The portrait of Bruce’s parents.   
   
He couldn’t take it anymore. He stood up so fast he nearly knocked the chair over and rushed from the room, going down the hall and through the kitchen to the back garden. He sprinted as fast as he could across the back lawn toward the woods, only stopping when the trail became too dark to see. Leaning forward with his hands on his knees, he gasped for breath, his chest heaving.   
   
At first it was nothing serious, just a flash of something in the corner of his eye when he turned around. From there it progressed to cold spots in his apartment or while he was on patrol. Then it was a presence he could feel, like he was being watched, and when he turned around, he couldn’t see anything but a faded outline of a person. It didn’t really worry him until he worked on a particularly gruesome case involving a Victor Szasz copycat. Ever since he caught the guy, he was seeing ghosts of people murdered in Gotham and sensed there was also something seriously evil following him around. There were the awful nightmares, the ones that had nothing to do with the Joker and made those seem tame by comparison. And the puffs of hot air against his neck whenever he worked in certain parts of the city, air that smelled of death and decay.   
   
All of it was driving Jason mad and he felt powerless to stop it. He’d marked up his most secure safe house with all sorts of protection wards, blessed artifacts and charms. His doors and windows were lined with rock salt. And the palms of his hands were sore and raw from clenching his hands into fists whenever he sensed whatever evil thing was following him, an effort to remind himself what was real and what wasn’t. But that wasn’t working anymore, and he could never be sure he wasn’t hallucinating.   
   
He collapsed onto his hands and knees on the dirt path, breathing in the comforting scents of earth dampened with the night’s dew and the decay of leaves. His breathing evened, his heartbeat slowed. Once he was able to think clearly, he realized Dick and Bruce were calling his name. His shoulders sagged and he stood up, slowly walking back toward the Manor.   
   
At the edge of the clearing, he saw Dick and Bruce coming toward him armed with flashlights. Dick visibly sighed with relief. Bruce looked concerned and in a rare turn of events, confused. Jason’s face blushed crimson and he was glad they were outside in the darkness.   
   
“Jesus, Little Wing. What the hell was that?”   
   
Jason looked at Dick and sighed. He knew he had to tell someone.   
   
“Look, if we can go inside, I’ll try and explain what’s going on.”   
   
Dick turned and headed back toward the house. When Jason moved to follow, Bruce put a hand out to stop him.   
   
“There’s someone here to visit you. I’d like to know why you’ve had anything to do with him.”

Jason narrowed his eyes and backed away from Bruce.   
   
“What the hell are you talking about?”   
   
Bruce raised an eyebrow.   
   
“John Constantine is here and would like a word with you.”

* * *

Jason followed Bruce inside and into the study where he could see Tim and Damian sitting on a couch and Dick standing behind them. Alfred was talking to someone who was standing just out of view. Bruce entered the room and Jason hesitated in the doorway, the scent of cigarette smoke heavy in the air.

He'd heard of John Constantine but had never met him. Jason watched as he greeted Bruce with a smile and a handshake, a lit cigarette dangling from his lips. His blonde hair was a bit disheveled, as was the shirt and tie he was wearing, and his sleeves were hastily rolled up his forearms. The tan trench coat draped over Alfred's arm must also belong to him. Alfred wrinkled his nose and silently moved past him to hang up John's coat.   
   
"So, there's the man of the hour," John said, stepping forward and holding out his hand. "You're a tough man to track down, Jason Todd."   
   
Jason froze next to the couch.    
   
"What do you want?"   
   
John took a drag on his cigarette and withdrew his hand, sizing him up with a frown.    
   
"You been having nightmares lately? Seeing things that aren't there?"    
   
Jason glanced sideways at Tim and Dick before looking back at John.   
   
"Maybe. What's that got to do with you?"   
   
John grinned.   
   
"Oh, it's got plenty to do with me, lad. When you came back from wherever you'd been? You brought something with you. I'm here to send it back because Earth is no place for a being that evil."   
   
Jason felt the blood drain from his face, and he stepped around John to sit down on a couch across from Tim and Damian, who, honestly, he'd forgotten were in the room. Bruce was standing in the shadows by the window, a scowl on his face and his arms crossed. John stood next to the fire place and flicked the butt of the cigarette into the flames.   
   
"Tell me. How bad has it become? What have you seen?"   
   
Jason swallowed hard.   
   
"Mostly ghosts of people who've been murdered. But sometimes I..." he closed his eyes. "Sometimes I feel something right behind me, breathing down my neck. But when I turn around it's not there." He opened his eyes again, his voice going quiet. "It smells like..."   
   
"Death and sulfur," John finished for him.    
   
Jason merely nodded.   
   
"Bloody hell," John muttered. "He's closer than I thought."    
   
Bruce stepped from his place near the desk and took a seat next to Jason.    
   
"What is it, why is it following Jason, and how do we get rid of it?" he asked. 

John pulled the pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lit another one. Dick went and opened a window.    
   
"There's nothing  _you_  can do about it," he said carefully. "It's latched itself onto Jason here and it won't let go until it takes what it can from him and is strong enough to cross through."   
   
"So, what is it?" Tim asked. "Why is it after Jason?"   
   
John turned to him.    
   
"It's a demon that feeds on pain and suffering and when it finds a particularly tortured soul, it latches on until the host drops dead and it can cross through to the land of the living, wreaking hell on earth."   
   
Tim sank back into the couch, staring at Jason in disbelief. John sat on the arm rest next to Jason and clapped a hand on his shoulder.    
   
"With what you went through before you died, and how you came back? You've got a lot of pain and anguish for it to feed on, more than I've ever seen. If it continues much longer, it'll be too strong to stop."   
   
Jason looked up at John, ignoring the gutted expressions of Bruce, Dick and Tim at John's mention of his death.   
   
"What do I need to do?"   
   
John grinned.   
   
"That's the spirit. You need to come with me, mate, and we'll make a pit stop at the house before we get to it."   
   
John pulled Jason to his feet and headed toward the door. Bruce stepped in front of him, putting his hand on John's chest.   
   
"Under different circumstances this would be appealing, Bruce, but not now. We need to get moving."   
   
Bruce narrowed his eyes.   
   
"If he doesn't come back in one piece, you will find out what hell actually feels like, Constantine."   
   
Alfred handed John his coat and held Jason's out as well. The grin hadn't left John's face.   
   
"Been there, done that. I've got pictures, if you'd like."   
   
"Let's get this over with," Jason muttered, stepping between Bruce and John and into the hallway. "I'd rather not see dead people anymore."   
   
John led him from the Manor out into the driveway, opening the portal to the House and ushering Jason through. The arrived in a large library, full of books, artifacts and other mystical relics. Jason cocked an eyebrow at a shelf housing a bottle of liquor and glasses.   
   
"I hate to break it to you, Jason, but that gift of yours might never go away." He was perusing a series of shelves in front of him, grabbing seemingly random items and putting them in his coat pockets. "Since you died and came back, you're a link between planes, the living and the dead."   
   
Jason turned to face him, hands in his pockets.   
   
"One, how do you know all of that? And two, why only murder victims?"   
   
John waved his hand and a bottle floated down from the top shelf, settling into his palm.   
   
"You radiate pain and suffering. And that's something I tend to pick up on since it attracts creatures like the demon now following you."   
   
He grabbed one book off a shelf next to Jason, looking up at him.   
   
"That and I met spirit who saw your death. I'm sorry you went through that. As far as why murder victims? I think it's because you are one, so they're drawn to you because of who you are."   
   
"And who might that be?"   
   
"Someone who gives a damn about those who've been wronged."   
   
He straightened his tie and jerked his head in the direction of the front door, lighting a cigarette.    
   
"C'mon, lad. We've got some work to do and I'd like to finish before he knows we're coming."

* * *

Everything was laid out in a precise manner, the sigils marked in the grass with red spray paint. John was reading through a list of incantations he had to recite to summon the demon and banish it for good. All Jason had to do was stand in the center of the circle, surrounded by the artifacts and charms John set up, and not die. 

"Oi. You want your family here for this, or no?"   
   
Jason looked up at him from where he stood, facing the impending sunrise.   
   
"Family?"   
   
John rolled his eyes.   
   
"You know, your dad, brothers, et cetera."   
   
"No. I don't want them anywhere near here."   
   
"Then you might want to tell them that." He lifted his chin, pointing at the abandoned church behind Jason. "I didn't tell them we were here."   
   
It was Jason's turn to roll his eyes. He turned around to see Bruce, Dick and Tim approaching.   
   
"You guys need to leave. We don't need your help with this."   
   
"Actually, if any of you happen to have some experience reading Latin, I would..."   
   
"Shut your mouth, Constantine, they're not staying."   
   
John smirked but said nothing more.   
   
"Fine," Tim said. "We'll keep our distance. But we aren't leaving you two here alone."   
   
"Afraid he'll enjoy this too much?" John quipped, flashing Bruce a cocky grin.   
   
Dick grabbed Bruce's forearm and tugged him backward. The retreated to the abandoned church where they'd been waiting. Close enough to see what happened, too far to hear anything. Once they were out of earshot, John grew serious.   
   
"Now, I'm going to start rambling in Latin, summoning this thing right to us. Once it's here, under no circumstances are you to turn around and look at it. Are we clear?"   
   
Jason nodded.   
   
"When it gets here, I'm going to start the banishing ritual and when I say 'now', pour this into the bowl, got it?"   
   
John handed him a small vial with the cap unscrewed and Jason glanced down at the bowl full of herbs, bitter-smelling powders and sheep's blood. It was shocking how something so seemingly simple would drive the demon away.   
   
"Let's get cracking, shall we?"   
   
He flipped to the first page and started reciting the ritual, the Latin sounding strange to Jason. Despite his ear for language, he was rusty with Latin and only caught every fourth or fifth word. The wind began to pick up and he thought he could vaguely smell sulfur. The scent grew stronger as John continued, his voice rising above the wind. Jason felt goosebumps spread over his arms and legs, a shiver working its way down his spine. John motioned for Jason to continue looking at him, pointing at his own eyes with two fingers. He nodded and focused on John.    
   
To John's credit, he pretended he hadn't seen the demon coming at Jason, a black, gnarled hand with razor-sharp claws reaching toward him. Jason caught the scent of rotting flesh and swallowed, trying not to gag. He slammed his eyes closed as the claws hooked his jacket and tugged at him. Jason unzipped his jacket and slid out of it, hearing it snarl in anger as his jacket fell away.   
   
He could no longer hear John. All Jason could hear was the enraged howl of the demon, its ragged breathing disgustingly close to his ear. He cried out in pain as several of its claws raked their way down his back, tearing his sweatshirt into ribbons. His eyes opened when John's voice somehow got louder.   
   
"NOW, JASON! DO IT NOW!"   
   
Jason wrenched himself away from the demon's claws, collapsing to the group in a heap. He poured the vial into the bowl and it instantly smoked before a blinding flash of light exploded. Jason shut his eyes and covered his ears against the noise. Moments later he thought he heard John calling his name, but he could barely think.    
   
"Jason? Open your sodding eyes, damn it!"   
   
Jason forced his eyes open and looked up to see relief flood John's features.   
   
"We need to get you up so we can have a look at your back."   
   
He nodded and let John help him into a sitting position. Jason felt something running down his back, soaking into his jeans and boxers. John peeked over his shoulder and winced.   
   
"Let's get you back home so they can patch you up."   
   
Jason slumped forward against John's shoulder, his eyes slipping closed. There was a blanket wrapped around him and someone lifted him up. He listened as Bruce and John talked.   
   
"Is it gone?"   
   
"It is, yeah. No way it could fight a banishing ritual like that."   
   
There was a gust of wind and Jason could hear the familiar hum of equipment in the cave.   
   
"Jason's a strong bloke, Bruce. He fought this thing for weeks before I picked up the trail."   
   
"I'm glad you did. Thank you, John."   
   
He was carefully set down and rolled to his stomach, the remnants of his shirt being cut away.   
   
"A compliment from Batsy himself. I'm absolutely chuffed."   
   
"Don't push it."   
   
There was a flick of a lighter and the sound of a flame touching paper. Moments later, the scent of smoke.   
   
"You know, there's one thing still on my mind."   
   
Jason felt the pinch of a syringe and the stinging from the wounds on his back began to fade.    
   
"What's that?"   
   
"I've not seen spirits drawn to a human like this before. Not sure what they all want, but they're out there."   
   
He listened to John's footsteps retreat a few feet. There was a pause while he took a drag off the cigarette.    
   
"I'll drop by the city in a few weeks to check in on him."   
   
"John..."   
   
"Take care of him, Bruce. He needs you."   
   
There was a rush of air and the cave was nearly silent, save for Bruce's whisper.   
   
"I'm here, Jason. I'm still here."


	20. Come here.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the post at the Bland Headcanons tumblr: 
> 
> In an encrypted file in the deepest darkest depths of his hard drive Tim Drake has a plan for the ultimate worst-case scenario: the inevitable death of Alfred Pennyworth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings other than angst.
> 
> I'm sorry for what you're about to read. It got really sad- more than I intended.

 

Tim sat at the table on his patio and stared out at the Gotham skyline. It was a beautiful summer evening- the sky was awash with a swirl of colors, from the soft yellows and oranges close to the horizon, to the pale blue and lavender hues that were higher in the sky. He almost wished he had his camera nearby so he could take a few photos to share with Alfred. Alfred was the first (and almost always the only) person he showed his photos to and nothing made him happier than watching Alfred’s reactions as he scrolled through them.

His phone chimed with an alert and he reached for it, flipping it over to see who it was. He thought he’d silenced it earlier, but he must have inadvertently hit the button again. It was yet another text from Dick. He flicked through his notifications and saw he now had fourteen unread messages, nine missed calls and four voicemails. Tim sighed and rubbed his burning eyes, leaving all the messages untouched and turning off the phone. He was too tired to handle any of that right now. Maybe tired wasn’t the right word. Exhausted? Closer, but no, that wasn’t it, either. Whatever it was he felt it deep in his bones and it threatened to overwhelm him.

Ignoring his phone and the growing ache in his chest, he watched the sun set further in the sky before pulling his laptop from his bag. He logged in and opened an innocuous file directory, navigating toward a file he hadn’t accessed in just over a year. His finger hesitated over the touch pad. The file was still right where he left it, safely encrypted and inaccessible to anyone but him. No one else even knew it existed, so there was no reason for anyone to go looking for it, anyway. He held his breath as he double-clicked the icon, watching as it opened and prompted him for a password.

He suddenly put the laptop on the table, yanking his hands away from it as if it had burned him. While he knew it was always a possibility to have to use the plans in this file, part of him never wanted to think about the fact he’d actually  _need_ to one day. That somehow, the situation they were in now wouldn’t happen. But the event no one ever talked about had occurred and they had no choice now but to act.

Tim recalled the precise moment the call came in that morning. Bruce’s name came up on his phone at ten thirty-nine during a meeting with Lucius. He’d stared at his phone, a knot of dread forming in his stomach for some reason, and his hand hovered over the screen. Lucius stopped mid-sentence and leaned forward. When he saw the name on the screen he smiled softly and closed his folder.

“Let’s take a break, Tim. I need to stretch my legs.”

Tim nodded and picked up his phone as Lucius left the conference room. And that was when Bruce delivered the news that would rock their family’s foundations to the core.

Alfred was gone.

During the week, Bruce and Alfred normally had breakfast together. It was one of the only ways they could enjoy a few quiet moments together before their days got hectic. It was an unspoken arrangement; everyone knew they met anywhere between five-thirty and six o’clock each morning and whoever woke first started coffee and put the kettle on. Damian avoided the kitchen until closer to seven a.m. and when Dick, Tim or Jason stayed over they were rarely awake before eight, anyway.

So, when Bruce went down to the kitchen at five-forty that morning to find it dark and unoccupied, he thought nothing of it. Since it was a Thursday, Alfred may have chosen to sleep a little longer. It had been a hectic week for everyone and even Bruce had some difficulty hauling himself out of bed this morning. But when he realized he’d finished his second cup of coffee and Alfred was still nowhere to be found, he thought it was odd. 

Stranger still was the fact Alfred’s room was dark and silent when Bruce entered after not getting an answer when he knocked. It was then he saw Alfred lying on his side, facing away from the door. Bruce approached the bed and called his name once, then twice. They all noticed Alfred was a little hard of hearing lately, so he wasn’t that surprised when Alfred didn’t answer. Bruce didn’t want to startle him, so he approached the bed and leaned down. But when he laid a gentle hand on Alfred’s shoulder to wake him, he was cold to the touch.

While Bruce spoke, Tim curled in on himself, spinning his chair to the window and covering his eyes with his hand. He listened to Bruce try to console him, telling him Alfred hadn’t suffered at all and that his death was as peaceful as could be. Tim felt himself go numb bit by bit, eventually sitting up in his chair and clearing his throat. He couldn’t lose his composure here. He only realized he was talking a few minutes later when Lucius appeared in the doorway, a concerned expression on his face.

“Do you need me to call anyone, Bruce?”

“No, Tim. It’s fine. Damian already knows and I’ve spoken to Dick. I’m going to call Jason now; he was out of town until late last night.”

“Okay. I have a meeting to get back to. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Tim, wait…”

Tim hung up and swallowed hard before putting it back in his jacket pocket. He straightened his tie and went back to his meeting notes.

“Tim, I got an e-mail from Bruce. We can continue this discussion another time…”

Tim shook his head, feeling completely hollowed out.

“It’s fine, Lucius. I’d rather finish this now. We’re almost done.”

Lucius eyed him warily and took his place across from Tim.

“If you insist.”

After that call from Bruce, Tim threw himself into meetings, reports and conference calls until Lucius came into his office that afternoon and gently pulled Tim’s chair away from his desk. He told Tim to go home and take some time, as much as he needed, and that he should take until Tuesday at the earliest before he came back.

It didn’t hit him until he walked into his apartment a few hours ago and saw the basket full of clean towels and bed linens Alfred laundered for him back on Tuesday still sitting in his bedroom. And as usual, there was an envelope sitting on top with Alfred’s flowing, elegant cursive, no doubt with a note inside instructing Tim to take care of himself along with a list of places he should visit during a vacation Alfred insisted Tim take.

It was real.

Alfred Thaddeus Crane Pennyworth was gone.

He bit the inside of his cheek and opened the file, scanning the document to familiarize himself with it once again. People always joked about how paranoid Bruce was, how he planned for absolutely everything. But, like a lot of people, they tended to forget about and underestimate Tim. He and Bruce were practically cut from the same cloth, after all, so it only made sense that if there were ever a situation one of them hadn’t prepared for, the other would have planned for it.

Tim was aware of Bruce’s file on the computer in the cave and had been for some time: the arrangements for Alfred’s funeral, which Alfred himself had researched and compiled. He found it one night while adding to a case file when he was stuck in the cave, injured during patrol. The level of detail both impressed and devastated him. After that night, Tim was forced to realize this day would come. Alfred had planned for everything, down to the hymns, flowers and where he wanted his ashes spread. (The cave, his rose garden at the Manor and some at home in England.)

But what Bruce didn’t have contingency plans for, what Tim had so painstakingly constructed over the last year, was a plan for the many roles Alfred filled: father-figure to Bruce, grandfather, holiday planner, company-keeper when someone was sick, mediator, sounding board, field medic/doctor, mentor, shoulder to cry on, cheerleader, art critic, homework proofreader and all-around wonderful companion.

Reading the first few lines, he took a shaky breath and pushed the laptop away again. The tightness in his chest he’d tried to ignore all day began to crack and break loose. He felt his jaw quiver and bit down on his bottom lip to steady it, but to no avail. As he watched the sun dip below the horizon, the feeling he couldn’t put a name to earlier became clear. Tim was utterly devastated.

Both Bruce and Dick once told him he was the glue that held their family together and Tim felt silly now for ever believing it. It was clear to him he never had been. Alfred had been the one who held them all together when things fell apart. Alfred was the superglue that pieced them together and made sure they stayed that way. Tim was more like duct tape haphazardly wound around something merely to keep it from breaking any further. Duct tape worked, sure. But it was never a permanent fix. Not by a long shot.

He swiped at a few tears with the back of his hand and continued reading through the file. He’d planned for absolutely everything he could think of from birthdays, holidays and weddings to serious injury, finances, and day-to-day events like Damian’s homework, meal-planning and household matters. The only one that involved someone outside the family was the field medic. He had someone they trusted lined up for that role; all Bruce had to do was call when he was ready. Everything else could (and would) be taken care of by members of the family.

Tim closed the file and shut his laptop, leaning back in his chair to try and enjoy the last of the sunset. He thought about the phone call with Bruce that morning and how he hadn’t even asked how Bruce was doing or if he should go home. His eyes closed and he sighed, rubbing a hand up the side of his face. There was a nasty headache coming but he’d deal with it later. Right now, he should be going to the Manor to check on everyone. Someone would have to, since Alfred wasn’t there anymore to do it himself.

As the enormity of that thought hit him, he choked back a sob. Alfred was gone. And Tim couldn’t do that- he couldn’t be Alfred. Nobody could. They were all without the one person who made them feel like a family, more often than not. Despite his small stature, Alfred’s shoes were too large for any one of them to fill. 

Tears flowed freely down his cheeks and he didn’t bother wiping them away. He felt so guilty for having a plan for this, but at the same time, he knew Alfred would have approved. After all, Tim was just doing his job, right? Looking after their family? It’s what Alfred would have wanted. He always wanted them taking care of each other. 

He sighed and stood up, shoving the laptop in his bag and heading back inside. Something else Alfred would have wanted was all of them together during a time like this. He knew he shouldn’t be sitting here alone but he couldn’t make himself go home. It would be too real, then, seeing everyone else in their grief and pain. And he wasn’t sure he could bear walking into that house knowing Alfred wasn’t there and never would be there again.

As the panic and grief bubbled to the surface, threatening to drag him under, he heard keys in the lock and the front door open. Tim braced himself against the counter, trying to get his breathing under control. Bruce entered the room, relief softening the worry lines around his eyes.

“Tim, there you are. We’ve been looking for you everywhere. You weren’t answering your phone.”

Tim stood there and stared at Bruce, unable to move or speak. His jaw trembled again, and he swallowed twice before he was able to say anything.

“Are you okay?”

Bruce walked around the island and approached Tim, gently putting his hand on Tim’s shoulder. His eyes held so much pain, but grief and loss were nothing new to Bruce and he carried it far too easily. It wasn’t fair.

Bruce shrugged and continued to watch Tim.

“Not really, but that’s normal. How are  _you_ , Tim?”

Tim bit his cheek and barely managed a shrug. He couldn’t look up at Bruce again or he’d crumble. He shook his head and was silent for a minute, then two. He took another deep breath and when he was ready, he glanced up at Bruce.

“He’s really gone, isn’t he?”

Bruce simply nodded and squeezed Tim’s shoulder, pulling Tim toward him.

“Come here.”

Tim froze for a moment before leaning his cheek against Bruce’s chest. The warmth on his cheek and the scent of Alfred’s favorite laundry detergent on Bruce’s old Yale shirt proved to be too much. He couldn’t hold it in anymore and his shoulders shook as he cried, his hands tangling themselves in the fabric of Bruce’s sweatshirt. Bruce ran a hand through Tim’s hair and leaned a cheek on the crown of Tim’s head, sniffling more than once. He let Tim cry as long as he needed and once the shuddering breaths slowed, Bruce grabbed his keys from the counter and steered Tim toward the door.

“I know it will be hard, but let’s go home. The boys are waiting for us and I know Cass and Stephanie will be there later tonight.” 

Tim allowed himself to be led out of his place and down to the car. As they merged into the evening traffic and headed toward the Manor, Tim felt the panic from earlier subside and grief took over. He knew it would feel empty at home without Alfred, but he couldn’t deny it would be nice to have so many of them back under one roof again. 

He watched the lights of the city come on as the sky darkened, and he smiled slightly at the thought of Alfred bringing them together as a family once again. And didn’t have to be present for it to happen. There’s no way anyone could replace Alfred, but they would be okay. It would take time, but they would cope with whatever happened next. The sun would come up tomorrow. And the next day. And the day after.

And if push came to shove, a little duct tape sometimes goes a long way.


	21. Arkham Knight vs Robin & Nightwing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh, come on. I know you can take more than that.”   
> Jason towered over him, savoring the feeling of looking down at his replacement.   
> “Get up! We’re not finished.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a scene that popped into my head a while back, but I haven't been able to fit it into anything or expand on it.

He’d had plenty of space in Venezuela and  _more_  than enough men to field-test the upgrades he’d made to his armor, yet he’d put it off. The meeting in Gotham with Scarecrow was the perfect opportunity to make sure it worked. And he’d needed to test it against the toys Batman carried, anyway.

That, and it would be infinitely more fun pissing off a Robin instead of sparring with men who were terrified of him.

Jason sat on the counter of the Kingston branch of the Bank of Gotham, swinging his legs idly as he waited for the police to arrive. He’d intentionally triggered the alarm and it was  _loud_ , but his helmet and HUD filtered the noise, muted the alarm, and amplified other sounds like the footsteps, car doors and voices outside.

Officers from the GCPD opened the entrance closest to him quietly, staying low to the floor. He took aim and fired, ricocheting a bullet off the marble floor and forcing them back out. He smirked as his helmet picked up the sound of an officer radioing for backup because of the gunfire.

He’d only fired two rounds and these officers were scared. He and Scarecrow had their work cut out for them.

Jason pulled his legs up and spun around, climbing down behind the counter. For tonight, his clothing and armor were all black and a deep shade of gray, and he blended into the shadows of the bank almost completely. As he fired off another couple of rounds as officers tried the door again, he heard Slade’s voice in his ear.

_“I’ve got the Bat in my sights on Bleake Island. Just waiting for your signal.”_

Jason studied the screen in his helmet display. The timer read three minutes and forty seconds since he triggered the alarm. Had Batman been on Miagani Island, he’d have been here by now.

“Engage, Deathstroke. I’ll let you know when to fall back.”

_“Take your time. I plan to enjoy this.”_

“I’m sure you will. Knight out.”

He turned his focus back to the lobby as his helmet picked up noise at the windows on the second level.

Right on schedule. Less than four minutes.

“Zoom in,” he whispered into the mic. He looked up and the helmet zoomed in, highlighting a form entering the bank. Based on the wide shoulders, buzzed hair and the cape, he knew his mark had just arrived. With a smile he slid around a corner, and still kneeling in the darkness along the floor, he drew his grapple gun.

As soon as Robin was perched on the railing and studying the darkness below him, Jason aimed and fired. The grapple snagged Robin’s wrist while he was reading his gauntlet screen. Jason locked the line and tugged violently, hauling Robin toward the floor. He was barely able to tuck his head and roll as he hit the floor, but he still landed hard. His shoulder hit awkwardly, and Jason was sure he’d split his head open, too. There was a soft grunt as he rolled over and came to his knees.

“I’m going to deduct a point for not sticking the landing.”

Robin swiped at the small trickle of blood above his temple and shook out his staff.

“And you are?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

Jason drew the gun at his left hip, firing at a police officer as he tried to enter, never looking away from Robin. The bullet struck the officer’s body armor square in the chest, and he was knocked backward onto the pavement outside the bank. Police officers weren’t the target. Robin risked a glance behind him, unaware someone tried to come in.

Jason could tell he was trying to size him up. So far, he’d been caught by surprise by the grapple gun and the use of non-lethal force against a police officer. Jason fought the urge to laugh; he knew the kid was analyzing everything Batman had taught him, trying to determine if he was outmatched or not. But Jason had waited  _weeks_  for this, and he wasn’t going to stand here and wait any longer.

“I know Batman taught you not to engage an opponent unless you have the upper hand, but come on,” he said, sinking into a fighting stance and beckoning him with a nod of his head. “I won’t tell him if you won’t.”

The muscles in Robin’s jaw clenched. He knew this kid was incredibly smart, so he likely realized he was being baited. The only question was whether or not he felt confident enough to engage.

Robin lunged forward and the staff arced toward Jason’s head. He was able to land several quick but glancing blows. Jason easily deflected the staff and put about half his strength into a punch to Robin’s injured shoulder. It knocked him back several steps, and a pained grunt died in his throat as he regrouped and came at Jason again.

They went back and forth that way for another sixty seconds or so, dodging punches and kicks. They each landed several solid hits, but the armor they both wore minimized the impact. When Robin kept coming at him, Jason realized it wasn’t necessary to hold back any longer, since this kid could clearly hold his own.

Robin shoved him backward to give himself space to swing his staff, and Jason took the opportunity and faked a left hook, drawing Robin in. As he brought his staff down, Jason ducked and caught the staff as it soared over where his head had just been. 

Yanking it away from him, Jason swept Robin’s feet from beneath him. Robin landed on his back, ready to jump back up, until Jason snapped the staff over his knee and pointed a jagged end at Robin’s neck.

This kid was good, he’d give him that. While there was definitely a heavy influence on his style from Batman’s training, there was something else there, too. Something a little more fluid, more subtle. He pricked the exposed skin of Robin’s neck, drawing several drops of blood.

“Oh, come on. I know you can take more than that.” Jason towered over him, savoring the feeling of looking down at his replacement. “Get up! We’re not finished.” Jason tossed the broken pieces off to the side and brought his leg back to kick Robin. But Robin took advantage of the opening Jason had given him and kicked at the leg Jason was standing on, bringing him down to the floor.

“Atta boy!”

They wrestled for a moment, until Jason wrenched an arm behind Robin’s back, flipping him onto his stomach. He dug his knee into the middle of Robin’s back, pinning him down. After a moment he felt Robin shift his hips and bring his knee out to the side to try to throw Jason off balance. Jason allowed Robin to tip him, but he quickly grabbed the leg Robin swung toward his head, twisting it far enough Robin had to roll over in the other direction if he didn’t want anything broken or dislocated.

The timer in the helmet was now at almost six minutes and Jason knew he didn’t have much time left before backup arrived for the pathetic GCPD officers outside.

“This might hurt a little.”

He wrenched the leg until he felt bones in the kid’s ankle move, and Robin screamed. The sound echoed across the bank, barely audible because of the alarm. Jason grabbed the collar of the armor, hauling Robin up off the floor.

“You’d better call for help, little bird.” Jason made sure his voice was loud enough for the kid to hear through the noise and the pain. “Because I’ll keep going until you’re dead.”

To Jason’s surprise, Robin smirked and tried to wrap his uninjured leg around Jason’s neck to force him onto his back down on the floor. Jason grabbed it and rolled backwards, bringing Robin with him. He pushed Robin up and back as they rolled, and they wound up in nearly the same position where they started, this time with Jason wrapping his large hand around the dislocated ankle.

He leaned down one more time, getting right in the kid’s face.

“You should really be more careful, Drake. Being a Robin can be a deadly job.” Jason grinned at the surprise in the kid’s eyes before headbutting him. “Or so I’ve heard, anyway.”

He ripped off Robin’s gloves and gauntlets, searching for the comm system. When he found what he was looking for, a small series of buttons near the wrist, he pushed the lone blue one and smiled to himself.

_That was easier than it should have been. How pathetic._

Jason tossed the gauntlets toward a nearby trash can and grappled up into the darkness of the upper floor, directly across from the window Robin used. Much to his delight, he only had to wait a few minutes before the next guest arrived.

As expected, Nightwing entered through the same window Robin had to minimize his chance of making any noise. Jason noticed the look of surprise on his face when he saw Robin bleeding and unconscious on the floor. Dick checked the room once more before swinging down and landing next to Robin. He immediately checked for a pulse and gently shook him, trying to wake him.

Jason chose that moment to make an entrance, dropping from his hiding place. He landed on the floor ten feet away, keeping Robin between them. He drew both guns from the holsters on his thighs, bringing the hammers back. Dick looked up at the guns first, then at Jason, before standing up.

“You really shouldn’t have beaten up my brother,” Dick said, “because now you have to deal with me.” He reached behind him and drew his an escrima stick. “And that never ends well for people like you.”

Jason laughed humorlessly.

“Still chatty as ever, I see.”

Dick pretended to be wounded by the comment, though he couldn’t hide the confusion at the hint they may have crossed paths before.

“I’ve been told I’m rather charming.”

“Charming, aggravating. Po-tay-to, po-tah-to.” He reduced the gap to about five feet and waited patiently.

As expected, Dick fired a grapple at him, and Jason allowed it to attach to the chest plate of his armor. The plate detached a second later, as designed, and before Dick could retract the line, Jason grabbed hold of it. He drew a taser and touched it to the line, pressing the button to discharge it. Dick let go before he was shocked, and he tossed it to the side.

He drew the other escrima and flew at Jason, flipping up and over him. The moment his boots hit the floor, he wrapped an arm around Jason’s throat and jabbed one stick into Jason’s rib cage. But before Dick could try to submit him, Jason threw his elbow back, grabbed Dick’s arm and pulled Dick over his shoulder. He landed on his feet and swiped the blood from his cheek with his fingers.

“Would you look at that?” He showed his bloodied fingers to Jason. “You drew first blood. That’s usually my job.”

“You’re not that good at it. Maybe you should head back to Bludhaven and learn a few things,” Jason said, his words clipped and quiet. “Or have Batman teach you how to fight properly.”

At the insinuation he needed Batman’s help, Dick got angry and launched himself toward Jason, which Jason had been counting on. His kicks and punches grew sloppy. There was still quite a bit of power behind them, but he left himself open too many times, all of which Jason took advantage of. After several powerful blows to Dick’s rib cage and a huge fist to his solar plexus, he struggled to catch his breath.

Jason let him go and Dick dropped to his knees, once again putting himself between Robin and Jason.

“Who are you?” Dick wheezed. “And what are you on? You’re too big to be that fast.”

Standing above Dick, he brought his fist down once more, knocking him out.

“Unlike you, I’m not the chatty type,” Jason muttered.

The timer in his helmet hit twelve minutes and thirty seconds, and he could hear S.W.A.T. arriving outside. He grappled up to the second floor, left through the window Robin had opened, and sprinted across the rooftops toward Port Adams.

“Deathstroke. Status report.”

_“Don’t tell me you’re finished already. I’m just getting started.”_

Jason paused before grappling to the next building, glancing behind him toward the bank.

“Yeah, I am. I’m disappointed in how easy it was to bring those two down, but the test was successful.”

_“I’m not surprised. But well done.”_

“I’m heading toward Port Adams. You’ve got twenty minutes before we leave.”

 _“Copy that,”_  said Slade, an almost childlike glee in his voice.  _“That gives me another fifteen minutes of playtime with the Bat.”_

Jason sighed.

“The siege is in six weeks. Don’t do anything that would put him out of commission for that. Otherwise? Have fun. Knight out.”


End file.
